


Cheeky Intruders

by MagellanicClouds



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Cat Cafés, Cats, Cybernetics, Developing Relationship, Flirting, Humor, Intruder to Sugar Daddy, M/M, Mugetsu!Ichigo, SacrificesForOurLordShap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 10:24:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17916977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagellanicClouds/pseuds/MagellanicClouds
Summary: Ex-Espada Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez is just trying to live a quiet life as a motorbike mechanic far away from the eyes of Aizen and the Las Noches Corporation. Unfortunately, the determinedly friendly freedom fighter who smashed his way through his garage’s windows can’t seem to take the hint.





	Cheeky Intruders

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shapooda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shapooda/gifts).



> For Shapooda, who is an amazing human being and deserves all the love I can possibly heap on her. I took one of her sketches and ran with it. 
> 
> Thanks to Adversary for brainstorming with me, beta reading, and keeping me on track with this monster. Thank you so much for the wonderful banner!

 

  
Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez supposed he should have expected such a spectacularly shitty ending to an equally shitty day. 

 

Here he was, at ass o’clock in the fucking morning (was it late enough to be morning yet?), standing outside of his garage in an annoyingly persistent drizzle, staring at a mess of metal and glass that  _ used _ to be a row of windows. 

 

_ His _ windows. 

 

He leaned back heavily against the seat of his motorcycle with a grunt. The sleek, electric machine was still humming with power, It’s headlights the only thing illuminating the dark alley. 

 

What a fucking day. 

 

He’d been kept out far later than usual running errands for that shady blonde bastard. Their mutually beneficial relationship was great for a padding the income he made fixing bikes, and more importantly, keeping certain elements off his trail, but it was nights like this when he came home in the dead hours of the night after some definitionally asinine job that made him question whether or not it was worth his sanity. 

 

_ Especially _ , he mused, sharp blue eyes running over the tellingly sparse glass shards littering the pavement,  _ if the point of all those under the table dealings wasn’t being achieved anyway.  _

 

He squinted up into the sky, hunkering into his leather moto-jacket to ward off the cold as he contemplated his options. Above him, the towering apartment-scraper that his garage was part of reached up, blotting out his view of the clouded sky almost as much as the rain in his eyes. A handful of lights could be spotted on a few of the many glorified window ledges building management tried to pass off as balconies. The low-rent district of Karakura City didn’t have the 24-Hour kaleidoscope of neon lights and constant activity that could be found in the downtown areas and this late at night the narrow streets, far below the reaching tops of the crowded buildings, were bathed in deep shadow. 

 

No light, no security, no witnesses. 

 

Petty crime wasn’t uncommon in this part of the city, but well-trained instincts told him it was an unlikely cause. Smash-and-grab was out. There had been nothing valuable and within reach on the other side of the glass and the gaping, hole was far too large for such a purpose. Nobody looking to simply make a few NeoYen by fencing stolen items was going to be carrying equipment that could shear quite so efficiently though solid steel gratings either. 

 

So he had a person-sized hole, evidence of weapons-grade equipment, far too little glass on the street to indicate that whatever went  _ in _ had also come  _ out _ , and most disconcerting of all—the first thing he had thought to check—the actual door to the shop, _ just around the corner from the damn windows _ , hadn’t been touched. 

 

So he had a visitor. 

 

Briefly, he considered calling City Security. The District Chief, Koufang, owed him more than enough favors to keep his name off of any reports, but the mere idea of hiding behind  _ civilian security  _ of all things already had him sneering in disgust. What use would they be against the kind of late-night visitors a guy like him might get anyway?

 

“Fuck it,” he growled, levering himself off the bike. He cut power to the machine with a sharp twist, leaving the alley in darkness. There was really only one option available to him and he’d been pussy-footing around it for long enough.   

 

With a flex of the fingers, blue light surged along the circuitry of his left arm and began to gather into a singularly in his palm. He shivered as static frisson crawled all the way from his shoulder blades to fingertips, skin prickling as the short blue hairs on the nape of his neck stood on end. When the gathering plasma in his palm coalesced into a small glowing ball of blue light, he reduced the flow of power to a sustaining trickle with a thought. The small cero fluctuated slightly, then steadied in his palm.

Sufficiently armed, Grimmjow forged ahead, mouth drawn down into a tight scowl as he approached the untouched door. He disengaged the biometric lock with his right hand then shifted his weight to lead with his weaponized left as the door creaked open. He’d rather not lose the garage to self-made explosion, but if it was one of That Bastard’s people on the other side of the door, then it was better to be hard, fast, and utterly destructive than to risk missing the kill on the first strike. 

 

He should know.

 

Grimmjow stalked into the gloom of the small garage on silent feet, his enhanced vision allowing him to examine the familiar space with wary care. His latest project stood closest to the heavy garage door, his favored short work stool and open toolkit still by it’s side where he’d left them; the neat row of waiting vehicles that made up the next week’s work taking up the middle of the space; an eclectic mix of paints, tools, and parts neatly arranged on a long workbench along the far side of the garage; a few incomplete bikes he’d snatched up for spare parts packed into the far corner; and there, between his favorite personal bike and the stairs to his meager living arrangements was a dark mass that didn’t belong. 

 

He crept around the row of bikes bringing the intruder directly into his sight lines. The circuitry in his arm brightened, the whine of the electronics reaching a frantic pitch as he primed the ball of plasma for release. 

 

In the blue light thrown out by his restrained cero, Grimmjow could make out the rough details of the dark shape curled up on the ground, back to to wall only a few meters away. One arm wrapped tightly around their torso while the other supported a long, dark blade positioned tip down on the concrete. Their shoulders heaved with labored breaths though no sound escaped the mask that stretched from ear to ear and obscured the lower part of their face. It was made of the same dull metal as the segmented armor that was fused to the black leather they wore from head to toe. 

 

Black. Not Espada white. But still potentially dangerous. 

 

On the edge of his vision, light glinted off a small patch of dark liquid. A deep inhale confirmed what he already suspected from the trespasser’s posture and the pronounced rise and fall of their shoulders. 

 

A bitter tang of iron. Injured. 

 

His intruder dug themselves deeper into the small space they’d carved out for themselves, red eyes glinting in steely determination even as the answering whine of a plasma weapon powering up met his ears.

 

The long blade held in a tight fist glowed with a red so deep it was nearly black, it’s sharp, bone-white edge all too familiar as it caught the light. 

 

“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me,” he ground out, voice flat with irritation. 

 

There was a Visored in his garage.

 

“What the fuck is one of  _ you _ doing breaking into my garage?” Grimmjow snarled, tungsten fingers twitching in paranoia as he resisted the urge to vaporize his unwelcome visitor.

 

The visored’s expression became slightly less hostile as their face, what was visible above the mask at least, scrunched up in confusion. 

 

“What?” They rasped, voice clearly tight with pain even with the heavy distortion effect applied by the mask.

 

“Did you hit your head on the way though my windows, asshole? What’s a damn Visored doing in my garage?” 

 

“How-”

 

“I’d recognize those white-edged blades you damn resistance fighters use anywhere. Now  _ what are you doing here?”  _ The blue ball of plasma in his hand brightened threateningly as he fed a bit more energy into it as a warning. 

 

The visored counterd similarly in turn, the black-red energy coating their blade thickening until the weapon underneath was invisible. The concrete under the tip slowly began to vaporize, its caustic scent filling the space between them, but they seemed as reluctant as Grimmjow to actually release an attack.

 

“We had an operation going on a couple kilometers east of here,” they finally conceded, head tipping back to rest heavily against the wall behind them. “Resistance was heavier than expected. I was forced to retreat after sustaining serious injuries and took a random path through the city to lose the pursuit. Ended up here.” The visored hissed sharply in pain as they scooted towards the wall in an attempt to sit up straighter. “Damned green-eyed bastard.” They added quietly, clearly not meant for Grimmjow to hear. 

 

Unfortunately for them, Grimmjow’s enhanced hearing was more than up to the task of picking up on their muttered oath. “Green-eyed?” He pressed, alarmed. “You mean that fucker  _ Ulquiorra _ ? Fuc- are you  _ sure _ you weren’t followed?”

 

He took a few steps back, head swinging around towards the shattered windows, half expecting the emotionless little bastard to appear out of the shadows. He stretched his senses out, searching the surrounding area for signs of imminent threat, but there was no sign of anyone else nearby. 

 

But if there was any chance at all his intruder had been followed, he needed to get rid of them as soon as possible. 

 

When he turned back around though, the visored was squinting at him with newfound recognition and more than a little added wariness. 

 

“You’re Jaegerjaquez. One of Aizen’s Espada. The missing one”

 

“How the hell do you know that?” He growled. This visored wasn’t someone he recognized and Grimmjow had known all of their kind by sight during his...employment. “And it’s  _ Ex _ -Espada, you fuck. I don’t take orders from that bastard anymore.” He couldn’t see much of the visored’s facial expressions in the dark, even with his enhanced eyesight, but the their red eyes seemed to brighten a little in amusement.

 

“We keep dossiers on the Espada, same as you do for us,” they huffed. “I came on board a little after you disappeared, but the others still had a lot to say about you. Most of them think Aizen dumped you in the river.”

 

Grimmjow couldn’t help the offended noise that left him at the indignity of being written off so easily, but their tense standoff soon resumed, shattering the tiny moment of levity. 

 

There was only so much time Grimmjow was willing to waste standing around in the dark though. 

 

“I’m going for the light switch,” he announced. “Don’t you fuckin’ dare release that attack.”

 

He waited until he received a grunt of acknowledgement, then started circling towards the wall to his left. His path took him past the switch and closer to the injured freedom fighter so he could hit it with his unoccupied hand. Both sets of weapons and eyes tracked their change in relative position with alert distrust. 

 

Grimmjow’s right hand came up to tap the wall as soon as he could reach the switch without compromising his lock on his intruder. The bright, overhead lights sputtered to life, blinding both of them for a few tense seconds and he quickly retreated to his original position, allowing the tension between them to drop to safer levels. 

 

Now that he could see him—he could finally confirm it was a  _ him— _ Grimmjow could see that the guy really was in pretty bad shape. His shaggy black bangs were plastered to his forehead with rain and sweat, the rest of his long hair, pulled into a low ponytail, was similarly stuck, caught between the small, segmented plates of this facemask and the high collar of his reinforced leather jacket. His face, what was visible over the mask that hid it from the tops of his nose and cheeks down, was scrunched tight with the pain he was undoubtedly feeling. 

 

Whatever hit the visored had taken had to have been deep. His jacket had been unzipped so that he could reach the wound and even though it’s lining was a dark red, it was easy to see that it was soaked with blood. 

 

He was a tough little bastard to still be alive, Grimmjow could give him props for that. 

 

The visored blinked tiredly after a few more tense moments, ending their standoff. “I won’t attack if you won't?”

 

Grimmjow pinned him with an assessing stare, head cocked slightly as he  considered the proposal. “Only if that includes “I won’t tell anybody about this, If you won’t.”” He countered. “I don’t want the rest of your masked buddies here anymore than I want Aizen’s goons.”

 

“Didn’t you used to be one of those goons?”

 

“Do you really think you’re in any position to be making jokes?”

 

The visored quirked a humorless shrug, wincing as it pulled on his injury. “Yeah, I can do that.”

 

“Good. On three.”

 

Grimmjow directed his cero to slowly dissipate, shunting the energy into a series of micro-capacitors that ran the length of his arm. They’d be carefully discharged at timed intervals to prevent an explosive release. True to his word, the visored was doing the same with his sword. 

 

Good. 

 

Immediate danger averted, they both took a moment to decompress. 

 

“Not to be rude,” Grimmjow drawled sardonically when it became clear his trespasser wasn't planning on leaving any time soon, “But I really need you to get out of here now.” 

 

“I just need a little more time to finish healing and then I can leave without bleeding out,” the visored bargained.

 

Grimmjow sighed. “How much time?”

 

“Ten minutes should be enough.” 

 

“You can have seven.” He ignored the eyeroll he received in response to his ultimatum in favor of stalking over to the shattered windows for a closer inspection of the damage. Glass and metal crunched loudly under his boots as he approached. 

 

“Was it necessary to come through my window? The door is  _ right there _ .” He griped, jabbing a finger at it. None of the panes were salvageable and replacements were going to cost him a fortune. 

 

“Didn’t see it,” the visored admitted. “I came up that narrower side alley, not the main one. And I was a little preoccupied with getting off the street as soon as possible.” He was already sounding better as whatever self-healing technology he was using did it’s work. “Still, not my best moment. I can send you money to cover the damage if you give me a transfer address.”

 

Grimmjow shot him an incredulous glare. “Are you fuckin’ stupid?  _ No.  _ I’m not touching a money transfer originating from a damn Visored. That’s a perfect way to get found. Besides, I don’t have a registered account anyway.”

 

“You...don’t?”

 

“Best way to stay off Aizen’s radar is to live as low tech as possible.” Grimmjow reminded him slowly, as if talking to a toddler. He paced across the garage to lean against his workbench, arms folded across his broad chest as he shot the visored a dubious look. “Are you sure you didn’t concuss yourself at some point tonight? Electronic shit always leaves a trail, no matter how well you hide it. Don’t they tell you that shit when you join up or are the insurgents really that careless these days?”

 

”Right,” the guy sighed. “You’re sure I can’t pay you back though?”

 

“Damn sure. And your time’s up. Get the hell out”

 

“But-”

 

“Get. Out. And use the damn door this time.”

 

Grimmjow watched intently as the visored slowly pushed himself up to standing and sheathed his weapon on his back. Cold blue eyes tracked his every move as he retreated from the shop, trailing over the discouraged slide of the resistance fighter’s shoulders. Good. Hopefully that meant he wouldn’t be coming back.

 

Tension bled out of his posture in increments, spine slowly uncoiling into a tired slump as his visitor finally left the range of his senses and he focused his attention fully on his garage. Time to start cleaning up. 

 

A quick sweep assured him that the damage was thankfully contained to windows. He eyed the few items that had been scattered—probably as the guy was looking for a good place to hunker down—as he pushed off the workbench and reached for a broom. None of it looked broken, though. At least the guy had been careful not to completely trash the inside of his garage while he was trespassing. He should give him points for that. 

 

He snorted forcefully. Yeah right. 

 

\----

 

The next morning Grimmjow stumbled out of bed with all the grace of a drunken elephant. After slapping blindly at his LINE panel to get his 6 AM alarm to shut the hell up and few moments in which a faceplant back into his sheets felt inevitable, he was finally upright and shuffling across his dim studio apartment towards the tiny kitchenette in an approximation of a straight line. 

 

Coffee. He needed coffee. 

 

He reached blindly up into the overhead cabinet, hand flailing aimlessly until he heard metal scraping against metal when it finally collided with the fancy coffee scoop that kept the bag closed. Victory in sight, he clamped his hand around the bag only to stop short at the quiet sound of tearing paper and the feeling of too much give under his fingertips. 

 

Grimmjow finally mustered the energy to look up at his target as he slowly pulled it from the cupboard. The trail of dark coffee grounds that followed in its wake only confirmed his worst fears. 

 

For a moment, he could do no more than stare dumbly at innocuous pink bag. “Why the fuck am I so tired again?” he grumbled to it as he slowly eased up on his grip. The trickle of grounds only increased as his fingers retreated from newly-made tears.  

 

Oh right. Some Visored asshole had crashed through his garage windows and kept him up half the night. 

 

Murderous irritation quickly melted into regret as the coffee bag met the counter with an explosive puff under his hand, dusting him with coffee grounds. Grimmjow stared at the bag forlornly. He’d probably be able to salvage enough for his morning pot of jet fuel, but he’d be making a making a trip to his favorite coffee shop soon.  

 

He ran his free hand through sleep mussed blue hair, blunt fingernails scratching lightly at his scalp as they passed through the fine strands. He let out a slow breath as he allowed the action to center him. 

 

He’d thought he was past the days where he forgot the strength of his cybernetic arm, but his coffee begged to differ. That Bastard would be giving him that infuriating, mocking smile right now had he been here to see this. He could even imagine the reprimand the man was sure to give, one he  _ had _ given several times in the early days after the loss of his arm.  _ “Are you not the finest hunter in my army, Grimmjow? Should a man in your position not be the epitome of grace?”  _ There’d be that awful tone of derision wrapped up in false civility that had his hackles rising like a cat whose fur had been rubbed the wrong way. Three years out of The Bastard’s private army and he could still recall it with perfect clarity.

 

He was getting worked up again just thinking about it; teeth grinding together in old rage. He exhaled a long breath through his nose, jaw relaxing in increments as he managed to cool his temper. It was too early for this. And if Aizen had any sense, he would stay buried in Grimmjow’s past where he belonged. 

 

Fuck that bastard though. Maybe he’d “accidentally” mangle another bag of coffee just to send the him an extra, if private, “Fuck you.”

 

...Nah. His coffee didn’t deserve that. 

 

Speaking of coffee...

 

Attention firmly back on his original task, Grimmjow unclipped the scoop and carefully lifted the bag so that a stream of grounds could trickle into it. At least the tears could be good for something. He managed to eek out the seven spoonfuls he needed for a half pot and tossed the mangled bag in the trash on his way to the sink for water.

With the coffee pot finally loaded and coming to life, Grimmjow set his sights on his tiny fridge. He pulled out his carton of milk before returning to review his meager breakfast options as he idly lifted his arm to scratch an itch on his stomach. He grimaced when an unexpectedly gritty sensation met his touch. Suspicious, he lifted the hem of his sleep shirt close to his face to squint at the fabric in the weak light from his fridge. There was definitely a layer of something fine and dark clinging to it. A quick confirming sniff had him jerking back as his nose was filled with the smallest coffee grounds from the bottom of the bag. 

 

Maybe he’d make a trip to the laundromat soon too. 

 

\----

 

Half an hour later Grimmjow was stepping down into the garage, feeling far more awake now that he was loaded up on caffeine, though his face was still buried in his third cup of coffee. He absently switched on the lights as he stepped off of the last stair and paced past the row of waiting bikes to the garage’s heavy steel door. 

 

He shot the row of broken windows on the adjacent wall a disgruntled look as he approached, assessing the old drop cloth he’d stretched over the gaping hole as a temporary solution to keep the damp out. It was the best he’d been able scrape together at nearly three in the morning and the grease stained fabric was already soaked through with the persistent mist that clung to Karakura’s alleys in the wet months. The  invading damp already hung still and heavy, mixed with scent of grease and electronics in the garage and clinging unpleasantly to his soft palate. 

 

Security was an issue as well, though harder to fix. Outside of the the net of bright lights, high-tech surveillance, and ever-present LNC Exequias private security forces that blanketed downtown Karakura, the maze of deep alleys that made up the city’s low-rent district were not a place you kept property unsecured for long. He’d have to cash in a few favors and probably tank his meager savings, but hopefully he could have them replaced by the end of the week. 

 

It was still too early to start calling around though. He could let the problem lie until both he and his contacts were more awake. There was work to do first.  

 

Grimmjow flipped a large switch wedged into the narrow strip of wall between the garage door and the shop door. The powerful motors that controlled the garage’s sliding steel shutters activated with a rumble, rolling it up out of sight overhead. Another smaller switch had an array of neon signage buzzing to life. He finished his coffee, absent gaze on the rain-slick street, watching the reflective surface shine blue with flickering neon lights as it came into view by increments. He would normally stick to unlocking the shop door until eight or nine since he didn’t usually get customers this early, but it was good to get fresh air moving though the place. 

 

He wandered over to his current project; a sleek black electric bike with a pale green pattern reminiscent of circuitry that shone brightly when the bike was powered. The owner, a scrawny little guy that went by Di Roy, would be by to pick it up in a few hours and he still had a few circuit boards to repair. Grimmjow would never understand how the scrawny little punk had managed to so thoroughly destroy some of the motorbike’s internals, but he imagined it might have something to do with the kid’s reputation for reckless street racing. 

 

Movement on the street caught Grimmjow’s eye just as he was about to settle himself on a low work stool, hand outstretched for a soldering tool. He slid his gaze away from the toolbox to meet the sight of a man pushing himself off of the adjacent stretch of graffitied alley wall. Tension crawled up his spine as he slowly straightened back to standing, lips already curving down into a frown as he gave the guy a onceover as he approached the open garage door.

 

The clothes he wore weren’t particularly alarming; sturdy black boots with blue accents, slim black moto jeans and a tight t-shirt in a shade best described as plum. A black leather jacket completed the look. It’s abstract seam placement accentuated by reflective blue piping - the kind Grimmjow knew would light up in the dark. Normal street clothes. Nothing suspicious.

 

The man himself was another matter. He was tall, nearly as tall as Grimmjow, but far slighter and seemed to be mostly legs. His gait was a little stiff as he approached, but still smooth and quiet in a way that told Grimmjow that he knew how to fight. Not uncommon in these parts, but still suspect given the context. The determined scowl on his face was too. And, barely visible through the curtain of black bangs that had been left out of a high ponytail, so was the hard, won’t-take-no-as-an-answer gleam in his honey-brown eyes. 

 

Most importantly, he didn’t have a bike and he wasn’t one of Grimmjow’s more frequent customers who sometimes stopped to chat. In other words, whoever this guy was, he had no business waiting outside Grimmjow’s shop at six fifty-eight in the fucking morning. 

 

Call him paranoid, but he was already regretting not picking up that soldering tool when he had the chance. After last night’s excitement, he was still half-waiting for a team of Chelute’s Exequias or, god forbid, one of his former teammates to show up, tracing that Visored’s footsteps. 

 

“Can I help you?” he asked. Polite. Disinterested. Scowl aside, this guy didn’t  _ look  _ like one of Aizen’s, but Grimmjow wasn’t about to rule out the possibility just yet.

 

The guy’s gaze diverted to the broken windows as he stepped into the garage, shoulders curling defensively even as his scowl deepened in a way that screamed  _ guilt  _ and Grimmjow’s expression shuttered, frown curling back into a full-on snarl. 

 

Narrowed blue eyes crawled over the guy as he did a quick re-evaluation. The build was right, so was the hair. Now that he was closer, Grimmjow could see that even in the high ponytail it reached mid-back. The eyes were the wrong color though, but with that mask...

 

“I thought I told you to get lost.” He snapped, frayed temper igniting like struck match; all that potential energy, dangerous but inert, flaring into aggression.      

 

Unfortunately, his harsh tone had the opposite of its intended effect. Instead of backing off, the visored fixed him with a determined scowl, spine snapping straight and shoulders squaring out of their guilty slump. “I owe you for the property damage I caused last night.” He insisted. “Just let me pay you back and you’ll never see me again.”

 

Grimmjow scoffed and turned away from the guy, settling on the stool beside D-Roy’s bike and grabbing the soldering tool. “If you really want to pay me back,  _ Visored _ , you can do it by walking the fuck away right now, and losing this address.” He fired up the tool, digging around for the spool of solder in his toolbox as he waited for it to come up to temperature. As far as he was concerned, this conversation was over. 

 

The damn visored had other ideas. “It’s Ichigo.”

 

Grimmjow glared at him over the bike as he moved deeper into the garage. “What?”

 

“My name, asshole. It’s Ichigo. Kurosaki Ichigo. Look, I’ve got n¥600,000 with your name on them in any format you want. It should more than cover-”

 

“I don’t care what your name is and I’ve already told you I’m not taking your money,” he growled, unimpressed. “Even if I had an account for you to wire it to, I wouldn’t touch it. I’ve seen what happens when That Bastard gets his hands on the identity of one of you idealistic assholes and it ain’t pretty. If he ever got a lock on you, then there’s nothing about your life he wouldn’t know and he’d use every bit of that information to ruin you and everyone you associate with. I’m not doing anything that could come up in that kind of search with a fuckin’ visored.”

 

Kurosaki’s scowl got deeper the longer he talked, bullheaded determination blazing in his eyes as he expelled an irritated huff. “The money’s clean.” He retorted, “There’s nothing that can trace it back to me or the Visoreds.”

 

“Maybe I just don’t want anything to do with you,” the mechanic snarled back, hackles rising and fingers clenching tightly around the soldering tool as he resisted the urge to put them around the other’s throat. “I don’t need your charity. I can cover the repair costs just fine.” He ignored the small voice in the back of his mind that reminded him that he  _ probably couldn’t _ . 

 

Over the top of the bike, he could just make out the dubious look that flashed over Kurosaki’s face.

 

There was a pregnant pause in which they eyed each other expectantly, Di Roy’s flimsy little machine the only thing separating them as they waited to see if Kurosaki would go for the low-hanging fruit that had been dangled in front of him. Grimmjow could nearly hear the ticking of the large, analogue clock he didn’t own. 

 

Fortunately, for both of them, Kurosaki had the good sense to back down first. “...Sure,” he grumbled, hands digging deeper into his pockets as he broke eye-contact to scowl at the property damage they were arguing about. “But It’s not about that anyway! I’m the one who broke the damn windows. It only makes sense that I’m the one to pay for them,”

 

“They’re my windows, dumbass.” 

 

“ And? It's my mess.”

 

“And  _ I  _ get to decide who pays for them. It ain’t gonna be you.”

 

“Who says no to  _ 600,000 Yen?!  _ The money doesn’t even have to touch your hands! I can pay your repair guy directly!”

 

Grimmjow sprung to his feet again, just about out of his already limited patience. D-Roy’s bike creaked dangerously beneath his hands as he leaned his weight on it to snarl right in Kurosaki's face. “ _ I’m _ saying no to 600,000 Yen, you dipshit! I have been this whole time! I don’t care if it’s clean. I don’t care if your day job is sufficiently protected from your nighttime activities. I  _ don’t care _ if the money never actually touches my hands. I’ve spent three years living off of that bastard’s radar and I’m not going to risk it for _ this _ .” 

 

Kurosaki was still giving him that obnoxiously defiant look. One that said he wasn’t satisfied with that outcome and Grimmjow just  _ knew _ they’d be at this for hours. This guy was going to try to wear him down with pure stubbornness alone. 

 

Grimmjow was not about to let that happen. 

 

“Let me make this simple for you, Kurosaki. Get. Out. Of. My. Garage. Or I’ll call the fucking cops.” 

 

Kurosaki’s scowl slid into something decidedly more sour. His golden-brown eyes narrowed as he considered his options, weighing the possibility of a bluff. Grimmjow met the scrutiny with his own challenging gaze, refusing to back down on his own turf. 

 

Kurosaki broke eye contact first, gaze sliding back to the damp tarp covering the windows even as his shoulders fell into an unhappy slump. “Fine,” he sighed, running a hand distractedly through his bangs as he turned for the door. “If that’s the way you want it.”

 

“Tch, took you long enough to notice.”

 

Kurosaki waved him off over his shoulder, long ponytail swaying with the gesture that somehow found middle ground between careless and petulant. “Yeah, sure. Whatever.” Grimmjow followed the Visored out onto the street, eyes drilling into his back until he’d turned a corner a few blocks down and passed out of sight. 

 

A few more moments passed before was able to relax, retreating into the garage to lean against the workbench, eyes still trained on the street. His morning wasn’t off to a great start, but at least he wouldn’t have to cash in one of those favors with Koufang over this. Effective threat or not, involving City Security would have been a mess neither of them needed.  

 

Grimmjow absently reached out to the wall behind him, muscle memory guiding his fingers towards a holographic interface for his apartment’s LINE receiver. Listening to his favorite station was probably a good way to take his mind of the annoying visored.  

 

_ “-oreds is believed to be behind an attack on a Las Noches Corporation facility located in the River District of Karakura City. The terrorist group clashed briefly with Exequias Private Security Forces though no casualties, or arrests, have yet been reported. Las Noches CEO Sosuke Aiz-”   _

 

The holo-screen crunched alarmingly under the force of Grimmjow’s tungsten fist slamming back into the projection panel, it’s glowing blue interface flickered rapidly as the image fizzled and distorted with noise. 

 

God damn, there was no escaping the guy this morning. 

 

At least he’d seen the last of him.

 

Unfortunately for Grimmjow, he was wholly unaware of just how stubborn Kurosaki Ichigo could be when he put his mind to it.

 

\----

 

”Please tell me I’m hallucinating.”

 

24 hours later and nothing had changed. 7 am? Check. Windows still broken? Check. Kurosaki waiting outside his door far too early to be reasonable? Unfortunately. 

 

Judging by the resolute scowl, Kurosaki had come prepared for an argument and Grimmjow was simply...not caffeinated enough for this. He marched out onto the street, yanking the shop door shut behind him. “What part of  _ get out or I’ll call the cops _ isn’t making it though that titanium skull of yours?” 

 

Kurosaki had the gall to shrug. “You did tell me to get out of your garage,” he agreed mildly.  “Technically though, I’m not in your garage.”

 

Grimmjow could only muster up and incredulous blink in response. Did he mention he wasn’t caffeinated enough for this? Eventually his brain decided it wasn’t worth parsing such an absurd situation and he came back to life, rocking out of his aggressive forward lean and turning sharply on his heels. “Have fun lurking out here I guess,” he called back at his unwelcome visitor. “Shop doesn’t open until 10 on Saturdays anyways and if you set foot in my gara-”

 

“Yeah, I got it.  You’ll sic city sec on me.” He could practically hear Kurosaki rolling his eyes. Whatever. He wasn’t going to stick around to argue with him.  

 

Grimmjow pulled his leather moto-jacket tighter around himself to ward off the early morning chill as he stalked down the alley with single minded determination, paying no heed to the water soaking into the bottoms of his ripped jeans as he splashed through the numerous shallow puddles left over from the previous night's rainfall. He was half a block down from the garage before his brain finally processed a rather important bit of information.

 

Kurosaki was following him.

 

“Fuck off.” 

 

“I will if you let me pay for your windows.”

 

Grimmjow considered turning around and walking straight back into the shop right then and there to grab one of his bikes. The visored couldn’t follow him if he did that, right? He eyed the guy’s legs suspiciously. It didn’t  _ look _ like he had any enhancements that would let him run that fast. 

 

Appealing as the idea was, he threw it away as quickly as it appeared. Turning back felt a little bit too much like defeat. 

 

Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez did not do defeat. 

 

“The answer’s still no.”

 

“Then I guess I’m not going anywhere.”

 

He gnashed his teeth together bitterly. Maybe he could do defeat just this once? He quickened his pace before he could succumb to temptation. 

 

The rest of the short walk was filled with stony silence; Grimmjow unwilling to make small talk and Kurosaki  _ for once _ taking a hint. 

 

Soon they emerged from the narrow alley onto the district’s main drag. Even early in the morning, the streets here were full of color and noise. Neon lights of all shades climbed up the towering apartment-scrapers for several stories, bathing the street in their colorful, intermingled glow. The large pools of color they cast were slowly becoming muted as the sun finally started to peek over the shortest of the buildings. 

 

On the street level, a few early street vendors had their carts out and open for business, already hawking their wares to anyone who passed by, and muted synthesized beats floated from the nearest open shop. 

 

Grimmjow swatted at a wandering AdBot that dared to float to close as he made a beeline for another side street not too far down from where they had come out. “Fuckin’ mosquitos.”

 

He already had one annoyance following him today. He could do without the second—especially if that second came in the form of a random, shitty robot trying to talk him into pawning his belongings at some shop located  _ conveniently  _ just down the street, or whatever. 

 

His destination was located just off the main drag. Now that it was in sight, it was easier to ignore his uninvited tag-along, attention hooked as it was by the sweet,  _ sweet  _ aroma of freshly brewed coffee that lingered in the street around the front door. 

 

Grimmjow tugged at the door as soon as it was in reach, ignoring the familiar, overly cheery door bell as he followed the enticing scent to it source. 

 

Soon he’d be sipping in some of that heavenly ambrosia. 

 

He stopped short, however, when he was greeted with an unoccupied front counter. Confused, he searched the space after a longing glance at the coffee machine. 

 

An array of cat themed lights blinked at him in pastel colors from a long, pale pink wall that stretched the entire length of the cafe. What wall-space wasn’t taken up by lights was incorporated into a network of small platforms, poles, ramps, and walkways that spanned the length of the wall and extended overhead and across the shop’s front windows. The structure, essentially a giant cat tree, was specially made to be accessible to any of the cafe’s small inhabitants. 

 

Yes, his favorite coffee shop was a cat cafe. Sue him. 

 

In the open space adjacent to the decorated wall, an eclectic mix of modern tables and comfy chairs in pastel shades were scattered across the light, wooden floor, waiting invitingly for customers to sit down, enjoy a drink, and make a new friend. 

 

In front of him, a sleek coffee bar edged with magenta’s lights took precedence. The built-in glass case that faced the door already filled with a wide array of sweet treats to tempt customers with. To his right, the short, pastel purple stretch of wall between the bar and the door displayed photos of all of the cafe’s adoptable cats with a small paragraph detailing their history. 

 

It was a good looking place, if a little pink for his personal tastes, but Grimmjow’s confused frown upgraded to a full-on scowl when he finished his search with no sign of its owners. 

 

“Oi, Pigtails! Where are you?” He barked. He needed coffee damn it. 

 

Speaking of missing people, his tag-along was being awfully quiet. He glanced to his right, checking the spot Kurosaki had been most recently occupying. 

 

Nope, not there. 

 

Had he actually lost him? A quick look around swiftly crushed that hope. Kurosaki was just outside the shop, busy staring up at the storefront in incredulity, bathed in the bright pink glow of neon lights. He couldn’t exactly blame the guy. The giant, blinking, hot pink cat emoji with one cybernetic eye that served as the shop’s only outward signage had put him off the first time too.   

 

A string of warbling meows broke him out of his observations and the noises quickly grew louder as it’s source approached at top speed and were soon accompanied by the sound of metal scraping against slick wood floors. Grimmjow only just had time to realize that he’d been  _ staring _ before an orange ball of fluff launched itself at him from the floor and slammed into his chest.  

 

His arms automatically came up to catch the orange fuzzball even as he felt the breath being knocked from his lungs at the force of the impact.

 

“Have you gotten fatter?” He wheezed. The cat in his arms merely purred in response. “What the hell is Pigtails feeding you?”

 

“I heard that Grimmjow!” A cross, feminine voice called from an open storage room at the back of the cafe.

 

“Where’s the lie though?” He called back, hefting the cat so it could rest comfortably against his shoulder. “Fuzzball here weighs more than a stack of bricks.” He glanced at over as a prickling noise started up near his ear to find the cat happily kneading away at the already scuffed shoulder pad of his jacket with its one original front paw. “Oi! Knock it off Orange, or you’ll lose shoulder privileges.” The cat studiously ignored him, but he still didn’t put it down. 

 

“You’re such a softie, Grimm.” 

 

He turned back towards the storage room to find the owner standing in the doorway, hands on her hips as she observed the two of them with a fond smirk. The small woman was dressed in a form fitting long sleeve mini dress, the black and white pinstripe material was stitched together with a striking magenta thread that matched the shade of her long hair that she kept tied back in pigtails.      

 

“Pigtails,” he nodded. 

 

She rolled her eyes and made for the counter, the dark pink lights in her black knee-high platform heels blinking slowly as she walked. 

 

“I didn’t expect to see you here for a while, Grimm. Orange is thrilled whenever you come in, of course, but what happened for you to grace us with your presence so early?”

 

“Fuzzball knows awesome when he sees it,” he huffed, adjusting his hold so he could scratch the cat gently between its ears. “I’m here for more beans though. And a to-go order.”

 

Pigtails raised one magenta eyebrow in disapproval, hands on her hips. “Didn’t you just buy beans?” She chided. “I know you’re resistant to caffeine, Stupid, but even you might overdose on  _ Bonanza  _ if you’re drinking that much of it a day.”

 

“I  _ did not _ drink it all!” He retorted indignantly. “There was an... incident.”

 

“Oh?”

 

Kurosaki must have recovered from the shock of being led to a cat cafe of all places, because the door behind Grimmjow finally opened, letting in a cold burst of air and setting off the far too cheery bell. Pigtails leaned a little to the left so she could see around Grimmjow’s bulky frame, eyes lighting up at the sight of a new customer. 

 

“Hi! Welcome to Mega Machine Kittens!” She chirped brightly. “I’m Riruka! Can I get anything for yo-”

 

Grimmjow sidestepped into her line of sight. “Ignore him, Pigtails.”

 

“Grimmjow! Don’t be rude to my customers!”

 

“ _ He’s _ the incident. Now hurry up, will you? I’m dying of withdrawal here.”

 

Riruka pursed her lips skeptically, shooting the grumpy mechanic an unimpressed glare, but she eventually huffed and marched over to a row of pink coffee bags adorned with a fluffy cat shooting laser beams from one cybernetic eye. “One bag of  _ Death Ray Bonanza  _ coming right up. Do you want it ground for that terrible little coffee maker of yours?”

 

“Obviously. And don’t insult my coffee maker.” 

 

“That ancient thing deserves all the scorn I can throw at it,” Pigtails sniffed dismissively as she poured the beans into the grinder and slipped the empty bag underneath to catch the grounds. “Usual order?”

 

“Yep.”

 

“Anything for your friend there?”

 

“We’re not friends, Pigtails,” he growled, finally glancing over his shoulder to look at Kurosaki. He was kind of surprised the guy hadn’t said anything yet. Turned out he was watching the two of them snipe at each other with wide-eyed surprise, both eyebrows lost in his bangs as he observed the exchange. “And nothing for him.” 

 

“If you say so.”

 

Grimmjow merely grunted in confirmation, attention riveted on the piping hot to-go cup Riruka was sliding across the counter.  _ Finally.  _ “Thats n¥2,500 with the grounds.” She informed him. “Cash right?”

 

Grimmjow nodded, leaning forward to get the cat currently clinging to him to let him go so that he could dig around in his jacket pocket for a crypto-disk without detaching the coffee cup from his lips. 

 

Kurosaki beat him to it. 

 

“I’ll get it.” He offered, holding his PAD up to the scanner. The machine beeped, signaling the transaction had been completed before Grimmjow even had time to object. 

 

Grimmjow glared at him over the edge of his coffee cup, other hand frozen in its search through his front pocket, incensed that the visored had managed to one-up him so easily. 

 

Anyone else would have burned away under the intensity of Grimmjow’s personal death ray bonanza, but Kurosaki simply met his gaze with a satisfied little smirk. 

 

That little bastard. Grimmjow was going to strangle him as soon as he was done with his coffee. 

 

Kurosaki was saved from his imminent death by a phone call, his PAD lighting up and nearly vibrating its way out of his hand. Homicidal thoughts aside, Grimmjow knew opportunity when he saw it and he wasn’t about to let one that would let him escape without his tag-along slide by unexploited. 

 

Grabbing the bag of grounds from the counter where Pigtails had left it for him, Grimmjow turned on his heel and stormed out the door, flipping the visored the bird over his shoulder as he was forced to watch the mechanic walk away. 

 

He felt those burning brown eyes drilling into his back long after he passed out of sight. 

 

\----

 

Grimmjow hadn’t made anything of it when sensed another person join him in his relatively quiet row of machines at  _ Sonic Suds _ . Other patrons coming and going on their own business was something to be expected in a laundromat and they were easy enough to ignore as he scrolled aimlessly through the music library on his PAD while slumped on a long bench across from his chosen machine.

 

What he couldn’t ignore was the arm that inserted itself between his PAD and his face.   

 

“Oi!” He barked, head snapping up from the device to glare at whoever had dared invade his personal space. The biting comment that was already on the tip of his tongue died abruptly as he found himself looking into familiar brown eyes. 

 

Kurosaki stood in front of him, fresh off the street and still hunkering down into his blue and black jacket for warmth. The cowl he could see peeking out from the partially unzipped front clearly wasn’t up to warding off the stiff breeze and cold, persistent drizzle that currently enveloped the city. His long black hair hung loose, damp from the rain, and small drops clung to the shorter strands on the crown of his head, reflecting the bright purple and white lights that lit up the store and creating a colorful halo. 

 

“Are you  _ stalking  _ me now?” 

 

Kurosaki had the decency to look sheepish, even if he didn’t retract the familiar pink to-go cup that he’d shoved under Grimmjow’s nose by way of greeting. “I guess that depends.”

 

“...On?”

 

The coffee cup bumped his chest as Kurosaki’s shoulder lifted in a slight shrug, it’s warmth seeping through his thin t-shirt. “Are you going to let me pay you back?”  

 

Grimmjow bared his teeth, matching the expectant quirk of the visored’s eyebrows with an incredulous sneer—an expression he was already becoming far too accustomed to with this guy around. 

 

He’d walked right into that one, hadn’t he?

 

Several long, awkward moments passed as silence stretched between them. In the background, an upbeat electronics track played quietly, nearly lost amid the humming of the surrounding machines. Grimmjow withdrew from their impromptu staring contest when the nearest machine buzzed loudly, its vibrations coming to an abrupt halt. 

  
“Tch. Thought you knew the answer to that already,” he growled running a hand through his hair as he pushed himself off the bench he’d been seated on and reached for the machine.

 

Kurosaki rocked out of the back-footed stance he’d been forced to take in order to avoid a disastrous, coffee-stained collision and quickly deposited the hot cup on a high shelf that ran along the top of the bench and took a seat. “Then I guess my answer is yes.”

 

“I don’t know why I expected differently. And here I was hoping you’d finally fucked off. You we’re finally starting to take the hint yesterday.”

 

The visored slouched into the curve of hard plastic, hands shoved into his pockets as he yawned. It was late. Outside of the storefront windows, the alley was already dark, sun having set below the skyscrapers long ago. In place of natural light, the narrow street was awash with the familiar rainbow of neon reflecting off of every damp surface. 

 

When Kurosaki hadn’t shown up that morning, Grimmjow had nearly broken out the good sake to celebrate finally getting rid of him. Apparently he’d been ready to celebrate a little too early though. More likely the guy just had somewhere to be on Monday mornings.  

 

“Yesterday you hid in your apartment and flipped me off from the window.” 

 

“I was  _ not  _ hiding.” Grimmjow huffed. He turned abruptly towards the neglected machine when the visored simply raised a dubious eyebrow in response, tugging aggressively on the handle. “How did you find me?”

 

Kurosaki rolled his eyes. “It’s not like I’m tracing you. We’re not exactly far from your garage and I was on my way there when I saw you through the window.”

 

That was...Fair. But. “Don’t think that wins you any points.”

 

“Yeah, sure.” Grimmjow glanced back at the guy as he reached into the washer. Kurosaki looked ready to take a nap right then and there. Satisfied he wouldn’t be any trouble for the moment, he turned back to his laundry. 

 

“Well, fuck.” 

 

Grimmjow ground his teeth as he inspected the t-shirt in his hands, glaring at the seams that practically disintegrated under his fingers. He tossed the shirt onto the bench and reached for the next. Hopeless. “Fuckin’ sonic machines.”

 

“How many of those have you lost to these washers?” Kurosaki had his eyes open again and was occupying himself with curiously picking at the pile of ruined fabric. 

 

“Way too fuckin’ many.”

 

The visored looked up at the mechanic, expression stuck somewhere between sympathy and amusement. “These clothes are old as hell. They weren’t exactly designed with sonic washers in mind.”

 

Grimmjow crossed his arms in a defensive knot, looking anywhere but at Kurosaki as he shifted uncomfortably. “They’re  _ vintage _ and they’re  _ comfortable _ ,” he bristled. And also cheap. Probably what Kurosaki was getting at. 

 

Kurosaki stood, clearly sensing that he had overstayed his welcome, and pulled his hands out of his pockets to raise them placatingly. “Sorry. I’m not judging, really,” he sighed, turning for the door. “I’ll see you around, Grimmjow. Enjoy the coffee.”

 

Grimmjow kept his eyes glued to Kurosaki’s back until he stepped onto the street, eyebrows scrunched together and lips tilted down in an unhappy frown. 

 

He sighed heavily when Visored passed out of sight, shoulders easing out of their defensive hunch as he raised a hand to scratch at his scalp and press against his temples. He gave the thick, blue strands one final tug before and turned back to the machine to quickly shove the load of laundry into his bag. Task done he hastily shrugged on his jacket, suddenly eager to be gone. He could sort the mess out later in the comfort of his own apartment.  

 

Belongings gathered, he turned for the door, pausing only to snatch up the the abandoned coffee cup on his way out. No use wasting perfectly good caffeine. 

 

He needed to call Shady Bastard when he got home. The sooner these windows got repaired, the sooner Kurosaki would leave him alone for good. 

 

\----

 

“Damn it, ya bastard, will you stop price gouging me?” Grimmjow groaned into his PAD, tugging at a troublesome piece of machinery with his free hand. “If this is what you call a “friends rate,” then I’d hate to see what you charge the rest of your customers.”

 

Shady Bastard merely chucked, voice just the  _ tiniest  _ bit muffled. Grimmjow could visualize the scene on the other end of the line with perfect clarity. The paper fan fluttering playfully in front of his face, the exact tilt of that horrendous striped bucket hat that would cast the wearer’s eyes in “mysterious” shadow, the smirk those accessories would be hiding as he held his PAD out at arms-length in anticipation of the verbal explosion he was inciting. 

 

Grimmjow struggled not to give him exactly what he wanted. Why was every conversation with this man an arduous test of will?

 

“But Grimmjow-san,” Urahara sang, “How could I possibly go lower on a rush job like this? It is so  _ terribly _ difficult to find people to do this kind of work on such short notice.”

 

“Use that honorific again and I will drive over there right now and personally tear yer head off.” Grimmjow snarled. “I know you only do it when you’re trying to piss me off.” Shady Bastard responded with a high laugh that made Grimmjow shudder. Maybe he wouldn’t. That did not bode well for his chances.

 

“Is that really the lowest you can do? There’s nothing that could take a little off the top?”

 

“My, my you could use a few lessons in bargaining Grimmjow-san, but that desperate tone of yours is almost enough to make me give in. I’d throw a few jobs your way to make up the difference, but I currently don’t have any need for the kind of work you’ve insisted on. Now if you wanted to-”

 

“I’m not assassinating anyone for you, asshole.”

 

“Why Grimmjow-san,” he tittered, “how very rude of you to assume I would need to ask you to assassinate someone for me when I have the far more beautiful and skilled Yoruichi for such tasks.”

 

_ “Urahara.” _

 

“You spoil all my fun.” the shopkeeper whined. “I’m sorry,” he continued more seriously, “but n¥520,000 is the lowest I can do.”

 

Grimmjow exhaled a miserable little groan. “I’m going to be stuck eating ramen for weeks,” he lamented as he gave up on tugging the part and broke out a wrench. Movement in the corner of his eye prompted him to look towards the street. “I gotta go. Got company. They’ll be here around noon?”

 

“Yes. Please have payment ready when they arrive.”

 

“Sounds good. Thanks I guess, you shady bastard.”

 

Grimmjow hit his visitor with a narrow-eyed glare as soon as the line went dead. “Why the hell do you keep coming back, you fucker? Do you get off on hearing the word “no” or something?”

 

Kurosaki shot an irritated frown right back at him as he approached, a familiar pink coffee cup clutched in his grip. “I keep coming back because I’m not the kind of person who moves on without fixing their mistakes.” he insisted, gesturing at the shattered windows.

 

Grimmjow pointed the wrench at him threateningly “Step foot in my garage and I’ll-”

 

Kurosaki rolled his eyes “And you’ll call the cops on me, yeah I got it.” He walked right up to the building, though he very deliberately made sure not even his toes crossed over the threshold. 

 

“Got anything different to tempt me with today? Or am I just going to be shooting down that  _ clean money _ of yours again.” 

 

Kurosaki fished around in his pocket for a moment before pulling out a small disk. He held it up between his first and middle fingers for Grimmjow to inspect. “Cash.”

 

Grimmjow blinked at the little crypto-disk between his fingers. n¥600,000 in untraceable currency. Well. Now that was actually tempting. 

 

Kurosaki had actually listened to his objections and countered with the only type of money transfer that wouldn’t leave a record. Here was the answer to all his problems packed into one tiny disk. 

 

Untraceable? Check. Enough to cover the damage? Check. With extra. Would get rid of his new stalker? Double check. 

 

Perfect.

 

Which meant he absolutely couldn’t take it.

 

Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez did not do defeat. 

 

“Piss off, will you? I’m not taking your money. And I don’t need you to fix this mistake.”

 

Kurosaki groaned in frustration, sounding a little muffled with his hand mussing up his shaggy bangs as he dragged it down his face. “I’m offering you what is literally the best compromise for both of us. Why are you being difficult?”

 

“Because I feel like it. Now scram.”

 

“Just take the damn disk!” Kurosaki started forward. Hastily aborting the movement as Grimmjow reached for his PAD.

 

“Do you want to call my bluff?” the mechanic challenged, gripping the device tightly. It creaked dangerously under the force of his metal hand.  

 

Kurosaki squeezed his eyes shut and blew out a long, steadying breath. “You are so infuriating.” He set the coffee cup on the threshold and walked off down the street.   

 

Grimmjow slowly relaxed his grip on his PAD as Kurosaki left the range of his senses. When he inspected it for damage he found small indents where the curve of his fingers had dug into the softer metal. Still serviceable at least.

 

Kurosaki had offered him n¥600,000 in untraceable funds and he’d refused because his pride couldn’t take it. He didn’t know whether this outcome would make forking over the n¥520,000 he owed to Shady Bastard’s goons more bitter or more sweet.

 

Guess he’d find out when he got sick of ramen. 

 

\----

 

For the first time since Kuroski started showing up at his garage on a daily basis, Grimmjow was happy to see him. 

 

No, he hadn’t decided he liked the guy.  _ No _ , he hadn’t decided to take the guy’s money. 

 

Why then? Grimmjow’s wallet was a hell of a lot lighter than it had been the last time he’d seen the visored, and while  _ that _ wasn’t something to be happy about, the result  _ was _ .

 

Kurosaki was pouting. 

 

And...Grimmjow glanced down at the holographic screen of his PAD where the picture he had just taken was displayed with epic clarity.  _ Just _ to confirm. 

 

_ Yep. _ He had photographic proof of this moment to rub into the guy’s face for the rest of his life. 

 

This was the true meaning of bliss. 

 

“They did a good job.” Kurosaki conceded petulantly as he inspected the windows from the garage door, still carefully not setting foot in the space. A pink to-go cup was once again clutched in his right hand while his left was stuffed in his jacket pocket. 

 

Grimmjow could practically feel the frustration over not getting to pay back the debt radiating from his stiff posture in waves. It was  _ magnificent. _

 

The visored spent a couple more moments pouting at the brand-new glass and gratings as if he could change the outcome if he did it hard enough. Eventually, he huffed out a long, resigned sigh and stuck out his arm so the coffee cup passed over the garage threshold, eyes never leaving the object of his ire. 

 

Grimmjow happily plucked the cup out of his hands and Kurosaki immediately retreated down the alley, metaphorical tail tucked between his legs. 

 

He smirked as he sipped away at the hot beverage, ordered just the way he liked it. He hadn't even made a pot for himself that morning.  

 

This was the sweet,  _ sweet _ taste of victory. 

 

\----

 

When Kurosaki had stormed off Wednesday morning, Grimmjow had been  _ so sure _ that he’d finally seen the last of him. Sure enough to actually crack open that bottle of celebratory sake.  

 

But Thursday morning rolled around with Grimmjow stumbling down the stairs later than usual, nursing a slight hangover with his third cup of coffee and Kurosaki was still there when the garage door rumbled up and out of sight. 

 

The exchange had been quick. A to-go cup had been shoved in his hand, he’d refused the guy’s money before he could make the offer, and then Kurosaki had fucked off do whatever the hell it was a guy like him did as a day job. 

 

Grimmjow had spent a few more moments than he’d like to admit staring at the graffitied wall across the alley in shock. 

 

Could you get drunk enough off sake to hallucinate?

 

But Friday had passed the same way - the short exchange nearly identical to the previous day’s and it dawned on Grimmjow, with slow building horror, that they’d established some sort of routine. 

 

What. The.  _ Fuck _ .

 

Now it was Saturday, and apparently Kurosaki didn’t have anything better to do on the weekends because here he was again. 

 

In Grimmjow’s garage. 

 

The threat of the mechanic calling City Security seemed to have worn off, which was...fair—Grimmjow could have made a pretty solid case for harassment by now and clearly hadn’t—and now the guy was making himself comfortable in his space. 

 

The mechanic squinted suspiciously at his visitor from behind the pink, purple and chrome monstrosity a customer had brought in for routine maintenance. Undeterred by the lack of proper seating, Kurosaki had parked himself on a clear patch of Grimmjow’s workbench, brown eyes alight with curiosity as they roamed around the small space. Despite the height of his perch, the visored’s toes nearly trailed on the ground as he idly swung his legs. 

 

Seeing Kurosaki so comfortable in his garage nearly had him calling City Security on him out of pure spite. 

 

No matter which way he looked at it, the situation was baffling. His windows were fixed, his wallet was empty, and life should have returned to normal. 

 

So why was Kurosaki still hanging around his garage?

 

They weren’t friends. Kurosaki only stood to lose money if Grimmjow finally caved into his needling. There was nothing of value here for the guy to gain by hanging around. 

 

Or maybe there was. 

 

Blue eyes darted to the steaming coffee cup the visored had brought him that day - left in easy reach of his favored position on his low work stool. Learning his coffee order was a nice gesture, but what was the point? There were only a few things he could imagine all of this ass kissing could be aiming for and his temper quickly spun towards boiling as he considered them.

 

What would a Visored hope to gain by hanging around an ex-Espada?

 

“If you’re hanging around because you think I might hand over someone juicy information about Aizen you can leave now. I hate his guts, but I ain’t stupid enough to tell you shit.” He growled abruptly, breaking the awkward silence they’d been cohabiting. He glared at the bike, knuckles turning white as he tightened his grip around the wrench in his hand. This had to be it. Why else would Kurosaki be making such and effort?

 

A loud crash from the workbench caught his attention, gaze snapping first to an old oil tin full of files and small screwdrivers that now lay scattered at Kurosaki’s feet and then up to lock with Kurosaki’s wide, startled eyes. 

 

“Sorry,  _ what? _ ”

 

“You heard me. What else could you you possibly keep coming back for?”

 

_ “What.”  _ Kurosaki was slack-jawed with shock and his expression seemed to tighten in genuine hurt at the accusation, but Grimmjow pressed on. 

 

“I can’t think of any other reason why you’d still be here.” He huffed, directing his attention back to the bike so he wouldn’t have the see that look.  _ Why did it bother him?  _ The guy was a nuisance at best. “That Bastard doesn’t fuck around and I like being alive. I’m not gonna give him a reason to put effort into looking for me.”

 

Kurosaki made a small, almost pained noise as he slid off the workbench and began collecting the scattered tools. “That’s  _ not _ why I’m here.”

 

“What  _ else _ could you possibly be here for?”

 

“ _ Maybe _ I genuinely feel bad for the damage I caused!” The visored snapped, straightening out of his crouch and whipping around to face the mechanic. His lips were turned down in a deep scowl as he glared at him, but Grimmjow was a bit too preoccupied with the collection of small, pointed objects he had clutched in his grip. 

 

Kurosaki must have noticed because he shoved the tools onto the counter behind him. “Those repairs had to be expensive, and with Las Noches owning the damn city I can’t see it being easy making that kind of money off Aizen’s radar. And what if I  _ had  _ been followed by the Exequias or an Espada that night? My actions could have seriously jeopardized what you’ve built for yourself here!”

 

It was the most Kurosaki had ever said about the situation that had lead to their strange acquaintance. Grimmjow could hear the self recrimination in his voice, but the fiercely determined expression he leveled at the ex-Espada did a lot to put a lid on his temper. He really did look a guy invested in righting his wrongs. But: “Nobody goes through this much effort unless they want something in return.”

 

Kurosaki slumped back on the workbench, hands releasing their tight grip on the edge of the counter to cross defensively in front of his chest. “I really  _ do  _ want to make it up to you,” he huffed, gaze set firmly on the street instead of Grimmjow. 

 

The mechanic narrowed his eyes as he waited for the rest. A beat of silence passed before Kurosaki finally broke, cheeks turning a little pink as he stumbled through the words. “And, well, you seem like a pretty cool guy even if you are a suspicious asshole.”

 

“...Right.”

 

Deciding the best course of action was to let this conversation drop, Grimmjow returned his attention to the bike. Kurosaki relaxed out of his defensive posture with a deep sigh. There was a light clatter of tools as he finished straightening up the mess and hoisted himself back into the bench. 

 

Silence lapsed between them again as they returned to their previous activities, but it was a little more comfortable than before. 

 

He was just fitting the maintenance cover back onto the pink and chrome monstrosity when Kurosaki decided his embarrassment had worn off enough to start talking again. 

 

“Why work on bikes?”

 

“Seems like everyone in this district has them, so it’s a sure bet for steady income and it’s easy to keep a business like this low-tech.” He shrugged, grabbing the bike’s handles and pushing off of the stool. The kickstand was stowed with a sharp press of his ankle and he began wheeling it towards the row of waiting projects. “Besides, I’ve got the skills and I’ve always had an interest in bikes.”

 

“Word on the street is that you come pretty highly recommend in this area. Where’d you get the experience?”

 

“Could you sound more like a stalker Kurosaki?”

 

“I thought you’d already decided I was one.”

 

Grimmjow rolled his eyes. What did he do to end up stuck with this guy? “It’s not a secret that Aizen uses the Las Noches Corp sponsored group home in Hueco Mundo as a farm for his private army. They’ve got to keep up appearances though, and a lot of the classes they offer have vocational applications. I always enjoyed the electronics and mechanical engineering stuff the most.” He shot the visored an accusatory look. “Machines do what you tell them to.”

 

Kurosaki’s answering smirk was entirely unrepentant. 

 

Rather than respond, Grimmjow wheeled the next bike in line over to his work space and sat back down on the stool. He snatched an old, battered clipboard from where it rested against the corner of his open toolbox, flipping to the right page of notes for the machine. He grimaced. This one was going to need a lot of work. 

 

He started prying it apart, and it wasn’t long before Kurosaki’s questions picked up again. Mostly unobtrusive things about what was wrong with the bike and how he was fixing it and before he knew it, he was on a full blown rant on the appalling state of its internal mechanisms, technical notes included. 

 

Eventually, Grimmjow noticed that Kurosaki hadn’t added anything to the conversation in quite a while and was just letting him ramble on aimlessly. Maybe he’d left? Sure, that’s what he wanted, but still rude after making him go on like that. He looked up to check, but the waspish remark already on the tip of his tongue died a swift death at the sight that greeted him. 

 

Kurosaki was staring at him. With an oddly soft expression that made absolutely no sense and immediately put him on edge.

 

“ _ What _ .”

 

The visored visibly started, snapped out of whatever weird reviere he’d been in. 

 

“Nothing!” Kurosaki glanced around, obviously looking for a quick subject change. “Those two by the stairs, they’re yours right?”

 

Grimmjow squinted at him for a moment before grunting out a confirmation and diving back into the guts of the bike. 

 

“What’s up with the big one? I don’t think I’ve ever seen a bike like that before.”

 

He glanced at the motorcycle in question. The glossy black and chrome power cruiser was positively massive compared to the sleek black and blue electric model parked next to it. She was a rare classic, and Grimmjow’s prized possession. The tip off that some dumbass with no idea what he had on his hands was selling her cheap was one of the few things he’d genuinely thank Shady Bastard for. 

 

“Pantera? She’s an old combustion engine model. Don’t get to use her nearly as much as I’d like—she stands out too much.”

 

”What about the other one?”

 

“That thing?” He scoffed. “It’s my everyday one. Nothing special about it.”

 

“Does it have a name as well?” 

 

“Ocelote.”

 

“Ocelote?”

 

“Yeah, like the smaller, shittier jungle cat. Since, you know, it’s smaller and shittier than Pantera.”

 

“Oi! What did ocelots ever do to you to deserve that kind of trash talk?”

 

“Nothing, dumbass. They’ve been extinct for almost a century. They’re just not as cool as panthers. I wouldn’t give that bike the time of day if I could ride Pantera all the time.” He’d take the roar of a powerful combustion engine over the low hum of electronics any day, but fuel was rare and classic bikes even more so. Using her was an indulgence he couldn’t afford. 

 

“It’s not like jaguars are doing much better in that department.”

 

“ _ Panthers _ .”

 

“They’re the same thing!”

 

Conversation flowed between them for a while longer—sometimes neutral, often heated, yet surprisingly easy—and the companionship was almost... pleasant. But eventually Kurosaki’s PAD started beeping, and The visored’s expression settled into a disappointed frown as he read the incoming message. 

 

“Got somewhere to be?”

 

Kurosaki sighed and hopped off the workbench. “I forgot Yuzu wanted help picking up groceries today,” he grumbled as he headed for the street. “See you around, Grimmjow.”

 

“I guess so.” It belatedly occurred to him that nothing that had happened in the last few hours was conducive to his goal of running Kurosaki off. In fact, every last minute had encouraged the exact opposite of his desired outcome. 

 

Whatever. He was a little behind schedule now and there was a lot to do before closing shop. Hopefully he’d be able to pick up the pace now that Kurosaki was gone. 

 

\----

 

Sunday morning dawned dark and gray, rain already falling steadily, and at first he mistook the  _ plink  _ of something hitting his window for a few particularly large raindrops. The noise was oddly persistent though, and after a few repetitions it sufficiently captured Grimmjow’s interest enough for him to investigate its cause. 

 

What he found nearly had him ready to commit homicide. Kurosaki was was standing out in the alley, coffee cup in hand, looking more than a little like a drowned cat. His only protection from the downpour was the maroon rain jacket with reflective silver detailing he’d swapped out his usual outerwear for. The hood was pulled up, obscuring his face, but the long tail of black hair spilling down his front gave him away. 

 

The part that got his blood boiling though? Kurosaki had an arm drawn back. It was nearly impossible to see through the water distorting his view, but there was definitely something small in his grip and it didn’t take much brain power to put two and two together. 

 

Kurosaki was throwing rocks at his window to get his attention. 

 

That  _ fucker _ . 

 

Fortunately, he seemed to realize that Grimmjow had, in fact, noticed the noise and was now glaring back at him, because he aborted the motion in favor of yanking off his hood so he could glare straight back as he gestured at the door with the coffee cup. 

 

Grimmjow decided to oblige. If only so he could rip Kurosaki a new one. He shot the visored one last dirty look before stomping down the stairs and into the garage. 

 

“Haven’t you destroyed enough of my property, asshole?” He snarled as he yanked open the shop door. “I swear Kurosaki, if I ever have to replace another window because of you, they’ll find your body in the river.”

 

Kurosaki rolled his eyes as he shoved past the mechanic into the garage. “They were only pebbles, Grimmjow. And it wasn’t like I was throwing them hard. Here.” He thrust the mug in his hand at the mechanic as he attempted to shake the rainwater out of his hood. The few moments that Grimmjow had needed to reach the door had been enough to completely soak him. His long black bangs were plastered to his face and water dripped from his brow into his eyes and off the tip of his narrow nose. 

 

Grimmjow scoffed, but accepted the beverage. He looked down curiously though when his fingers met slick metal instead of paper. 

 

This wasn’t from Mega Machine Kittens. 

 

He held the mug up for closer inspection. It was the reusable kind, it’s steel surface enameled in a shade of blue that nearly matched his hair. 

 

Curiosity peaked. He brought the mug up to his lips and took a cautious sip. The distinct strong and bitter taste of  _ Bonanza  _ met him, cut with just the right amount of milk and sugar. It was a damn good cup of coffee, but there was something just the slightest bit off with the ratios that told him this wasn’t Pigtails’ work. 

 

“Did you  _ make _ me coffee this morning?” He blurted out, interrupting Kurosaki’s futile and, quite frankly, useless attempt to dry off a little. 

 

The visored snapped his head around to look to him, a faint blush on his cheeks. “Maybe,” he hedged. “Is it any good?”

 

Grimmjow took another sip and pretended to consider it a moment just to make him sweat. “It’s passable,” he eventually declared, lying through his teeth. “Was there anything else you needed or are you just here for this?”

 

“Well...”

 

“ _ No _ , I won’t take your money.”

 

“That’s about what I expected,” Kurosaki sighed as he pulled up his hood and stepped back into the rain. “See you around, Grimmjow.”

 

Grimmjow squinted suspiciously at his back until the pouring rain obscured him from view. 

 

\----

 

Noon found Grimmjow lazing around his apartment, sprawled out like a starfish on his ancient couch as he tried to decide between a bland chickn’ and rice bowl and an even more bland ramen noodle cup for lunch. 

 

He was not exactly eating gourmet these days. 

 

The garage wasn’t open on Sundays. It was the only day he reserved completely for himself each week, but he wasn't much for socializing and the day usually passed in a mix of errands, favors for Shady Bastard, visiting Fuzzball at Mega Machine Kittens, and, if he was feeling adventurous, he might find himself at one of the handful of bars he favored at the end of it. 

 

But Shady Bastard didn’t need his services right now, and if his just-about empty safe hadn’t been enough deterrent for any spending he might get up to, then the icy rain pouring outside his apartment was. So a lazy Sunday spent listening to his favorite music channel on the LINE sounded pretty good to him. 

 

Grimmjow cracked open his eyes just enough to make sure he wasn’t reaching for his coffee mug completely blind. His fingers clinked quietly against its enameled steel surface when they made contact. 

 

The rain hadn’t deterred Kurosaki from making his daily visit. 

 

Thinking about Kurosaki inevitably led him to thinking about the visored’s quick exit this morning. He had folded far too easily considering the way their arguments usually went. 

 

What the hell was he up to now?

 

He was broken out of his suspicious musings by the shrill ring of an incoming voice call. Cracking open his eyes a little wider, Grimmjow stretched out his hand to hover over his PAD where it lay on his tiny, beat-up coffee table. After a moment of consideration, he plucked it off the scratched surface and held it up to his ear. 

 

Pigtails started squealing at him the moment the line picked up. 

 

“Grimm!” She shrieked. “Thank you so, so,  _ so much!  _ This is amazing! I can’t believe it! We’re going to be able to save  _ so many  _ cats with this!” 

 

“Pigtails what the fu-”

 

“I mean, do you  _ know _ how much we can get done with n¥400,000?! Edrad will finally be able to get those parts he needs for Toast’s new ears and we can upgrade Mr. Pebbles’ spinal implants to get rid of that limp that’s left over from when his legs got crushed by that bike! And Momo! Edrad’s been working on her prosthetic paw and this will help _ so much. _ Thankyouthankyouthankyou!”

 

Grimmjow’s eyes got wider with every cat she named and he slowly rolled his head along the back of the couch until he was looking at his small safe. Yep, still virtually empty. So empty he hadn’t bothered to lock the thing since forking over the money for those window repairs. “Wait, you think that  _ I- _ ”

 

“Oh! And we won't forget Orange! We’ll make sure to pick up some nice treats for him, I know you’d like that!”

 

“But I didn’t-”

 

“This is so exciting! I have so many plans to make. Thank you so much, Grimmjow! I’ll make sure this donation gets put to good use!”

 

Half a second later the call disconnected. Grimmjow continued to stare at his empty safe in shock, trying to process the bizarre conversation he’d just had as he slowly lowered his PAD from his ear until it was resting in his lap. 

 

n¥400,000 had been donated to Mega Machine Kittens’ Feline Rescue Program in his name; n¥400,000 he definitely did not have. Pigtails wasn’t privy to the ins-and-outs of his financial situation, but she knew him well enough to know that he wasn’t exactly sitting on that much disposable cash. And there was only one person he knew of who would have the balls to make that donation and ask Pigtails to attribute it to him. 

 

Kurosaki’s easy acquiescence suddenly made a lot more sense. With no luck on the direct approach, it seemed that he’d decided to try throwing his money at Pigtails’ rescue program instead. 

 

Grimmjow actually caught himself smiling over the gesture. Of all of the ways Kurosaki had tried so far, donating money to a cause Grimmjow cared about was probably the most palatable. Even if it did mean he’d been stuck listening to Pigtails talk his ear off. 

 

He spent the rest of the day realizing at inopportune moments that he still had that stupid smile on his lips. Kurosaki actually did good this time. Maybe he’d eventually thank him for this. 

 

...Or maybe not. 

 

Not even 24 hours later, Grimmjow had to admit that he should have considered the larger implications of Kurosaki making such a large donation to Mega Machine Kittens in his name. Because now he found himself subject to the weirdest interaction he’d had with the visored to date.

 

He’d shown up at his usual time with another reusable mug full of coffee and a box, shoving both items into Grimmjow’s chest the moment the garage door pulled up enough for them to interact. Grimmjow couldn’t stop the automatic response that had him clutching at the items as soon as they made contact—the blame for that one could be laid directly at Fuzzball’s furry little feet. 

 

Items successfully delivered, Kurosaki booked it out of there before the shutters had even finished opening, and Grimmjow was left to gape after him, completely caught off guard by the turn of events. He was only just registering what had happened when the visored’s long, trailing ponytail whipped around the corner after him and out of sight. 

 

Well, that was...weird. 

 

With nothing better to do, Grimmjow carefully inspected the objects in his hands. The coffee, he’d come to expect. Even if Kurosaki making it himself was still a very new thing. The box on the other hand, was a new addition. But its mint green packaging was distinctly familiar. 

 

It was a box of cookies. 

 

Not just any box of cookies. No. Kurosaki had gone straight for the supreme ruler of cookies: _Girl Scout_ _cookies_. Thin Mints to be exact. 

 

Kurosaki had forced a box of Thin Mints on him and then immediately run away. 

 

It was like a drive by, right? With Girl Scout cookies. A Girl Scout Cookie Drive By. 

 

What the  _ fuck. _

 

How did Kurosaki even know Thin Mints were his favorite kind?

 

The answer hit him like lightning, the previous day’s strange call finally making sense now that he’d seen the bigger picture. He had his dented PAD out in seconds, fingers flying across the holoscreen as he pulled up one of his few contacts and hit dial. 

 

“You’re a dirty traitor.” He growled as soon as the line picked up. 

 

“Well, hello to you too, Grimmjow.” She greeted in her most saccharine tone. “Enjoying those Thin Mints yet? 

 

“How could you tell him my favorite Girl Scout cookie, Pigtails? I’m trying to get rid of him!”

 

“He’s such a sweet guy though.” She sighed, voice taking on an oddy soft quality he’d never heard from her before. Was that ... _ wistfulness _ ? “Definitely a keeper! He barely needed my help.”

 

“Help? What else did you tell him?!”

 

“Oh, nothing really.” She chirped, suddenly sounding far too cheerful at his misery. That was more like it. 

 

_ “Riruka.”  _ Grimmjow deployed his most threatening growl. He may as well have beaned her in the face with one of those cutesy plush donuts she adored for all the good it did though.

 

“Sorry, I gotta go! A whole gaggle of customers just walked in, and Oreo went and knocked all the the to-go cups off the bar. Poor thing hasn’t gotten used to her new eyes yet.” Grimmjow was certain she was cheerfully lying through her teeth, but she wouldn’t let him get a word in edgewise. “Bye Grimm! Try not to be  _ too  _ upset that a cute guy is paying attention to you!”

 

“He’s not!-” he sputtered, but he could already hear the tone signaling the call had disconnected. Grimmjow slowly lowered the device away from his ear and stared blankly at the screen.

 

What. The. Hell. 

 

Maybe he’d think about that conversation later. Much later. 

 

Instead, he slid his gaze away from his PAD to the box of cookies tucked under his arm. Accepting them felt a lot like giving ground in this, this... _ thing _ he had going with Kurosaki. And, if Grimmjow was honest with himself, he felt like he’d been doing too much of that lately. 

 

But. 

 

They  _ were _ his favorite and it would be a shame to waste them. It’s wasn’t often that he ended up with a box of Thin Mints to himself. 

 

There was something a little odd though, he realized. Now that he was really looking at it, the flap on the box looked a bit crooked and the flimsy cardboard was just the slightest bit warped, almost like it had been carefully opened and then taped back down. 

 

Longing quickly morphed into suspicion. Had Kurosaki  _ tampered _ with his cookies? He placed his PAD and the coffee cup on the workbench to free up his hands. Only one way to find out. 

 

Grimmjow shoved his index finger under the the flap and jerked up. The cardboard popped off with unusual ease and he flipped it back so he could examine the underside. 

 

Yep. Double sided tape. 

 

He carefully unfolded the remaining flaps. There wasn’t anything on top, but when he tilted the box he could hear something rolling around on the side, close to the bottom. 

 

Grimmjow squinted suspiciously at the box. Did Kurosaki really do what he thought he had?

 

He huffed exasperatedly and upended the box, squeezing it just a little so the cookies stayed inside as the mystery object slid out into his open palm. 

 

_ “Damn it, Kurosaki!” _

 

The tiny screen on one flat side of the small crypto-disk brightly declared its contents of n¥20,000. 

  
  


\----

 

The drive-by Girl Scout cookies had only been the start. 

 

The very next day, Grimmjow had found a plastic bag containing several neatly folded shirts sitting on his workbench counter while he was cleaning up shop at the end of the day. The bag resembled a few he already had lying around from a parts wholesaler he frequented, so it wasn’t hard to understand how it had gone beneath his notice until now.

 

Kurosaki had definitely been counting on that. 

 

It had probably helped that Grimmjow had been a little preoccupied with shoving his his hands into Kurosaki’s front pockets that morning, intent on forcing him take back the crypto-disk he’d slipped into the Thin Mints the day before. After that, he’d studiously ignored the guy in favor of work so that he didn’t have to acknowledge that he was being laughed at. 

 

Either Kurosaki was a master strategist, or Grimmjow was making it to easy on him. He tried not to dwell on which one of those options was the truth.

 

His pride probably couldn't take it. 

 

Grimmjow pulled out the first shirt in the stack, undoing the neat folds so he could get a better look at it. 

 

It wasn’t some trendy and modern piece like he’d originally feared it might be. It was old—old enough to be considered the kind of dirt cheap vintage wear he usually went for—but in great condition for its age.

 

He ran his fingers over the seams, tugging on them gently to assess their strength and finding them stronger than he had anticipated. Curious, he squinted down at one of them to identify the cause. 

 

A second set of threads was sewn right on top of the original seams, stitched in such a way that they would strengthen the weakest parts the garment. They still wouldn’t hold up as well as clothes constructed with modern techniques, but they’d last a hell of a lot longer than his clothes usually did. 

 

Whoever had reinforced the seams had done an excellent job. Grimmjow doubted it was Kurosaki who’d done it, though he’d most likely been the one to make the request. That was...surprisingly thoughtful of him.

 

But also, where did Kurosaki get of buying him clothes? Closer inspection confirmed that each of the four garments had a design that actually appealed to his sense of style. Kurosaki probably had to comb through a lot of trash to find these. 

 

Didn’t you have to at least be friends for this sort of shit? You didn’t do this for your ...not-enemy?...Frenemy?

 

Whatever the hell it was, it was  _ weird.  _

 

Despite himself, Grimmjow couldn’t stop the corners of his lips from tugging up in a small smile. This small collection of t-shirts was easily the most thoughtful gift he had ever received in his life. 

 

He scooped them up as he made for the stairs to his apartment, crumpling the plastic bag in his fist, but paused when he felt his hand close over something small and hard. 

 

Grimmjow took a moment to pray to any god that might exist that it wasn’t what he thought it was. 

 

He slowly uncurled his fist, dropping the bag back onto the workbench so he could root around inside.

 

In spite of his prayers, the small object that he fished from the bottom of the bag was, in fact, a crypto-disk. Not the same one as before, but still also containing  n¥20,000. 

 

So _ that’s _ why the little shit took his money back so easily. Never mind feeling grateful, Grimmjow was going to  _ strangle _ him with this bag. 

 

\----

 

The next evening, Grimmjow found himself lounging on his ancient couch after closing shop for the day. Outside, the tiny sliver of sky visible though the forest of towering apartment-scrapers was slowly fading from the bright pinks and yellows of sunset to a dark bruised purple. His arm was running low on power and the damn thing charged faster when he wasn’t using it, so he’d left it plugged into the corner outlet while he lazed around and contemplated a growing predicament. 

 

He scratched idly at the scarring around the empty neural interface socket in his left shoulder, blunt fingernails scraping lightly over the uneven skin in an attempt to chase away the prickly discomfort of overstimulation that plagued him during the rainy season. While the winter months rarely brought snow to Karakura, the constant cold and damp often caused the old injury to feel tight and achy, hypersensitive to the unyielding metal of the port where it was grafted into his body. He pressed gently at the adjoining skin, trying to rub out the persistent ache, unfocused gaze directed up at his flickering ceiling lights. 

 

Kurosaki was getting pushier. 

 

Somewhere down the line, probably when the little shit had realized his attempts to sway Grimmjow’s position with reason were futile, his tactics had started evolving. Now he was just playing plain  _ dirty _ . 

 

Between the daily visits, the coffee, and the more recent gifts of food and material goods, Kurosaki had pretty successfully inserted himself into Grimmjow’s life without so much as a by-your-leave, slowly drawing the mechanic in until he had him dancing to his tune no matter how hard or fiercely he’d protested in the beginning. 

 

The realization had slapped Grimmjow in the face that morning when Kurosaki failed to show up. 

 

He knew it was too much to hope that the morning no-show meant the guy had finally pissed off. He’d come around late before—the laundromat incident being the prime example—but Grimmjow was miffed at how accustomed he was getting to having the visored in his life. 

 

He was so used to him showing up in the mornings now that he hadn’t even remembered to run his own coffee pot. It was nearly nine by the time the mechanic had realized that the visored wasn’t coming and he’d wasted nearly thee precious hours without caffeine. 

 

Yeah, it really was his caffeine addiction that finally clued him in to how far gone he was. 

 

How embarrassing. 

 

He was going to have to start making his own coffee again. No sense in feeding this alarming new dependency.  

 

A sudden knock on his apartment door had Grimmjow instantly on high alert. 

He swung his legs off of the couch, using his single arm to push himself upright, eyes locked firmly on the apartment’s flimsy door. 

 

“The fuck?” He cursed quietly, aggravated that someone had gotten so close without drawing his attention. The garage below was the only way in and all the doors were locked. Nobody should have been knocking on this door. 

 

He hadn’t heard any movement downstairs, but that could simply mean either that his intruder was very skilled, or that he’d just been that out of it while he’d been mulling over his strange relationship with Kurosaki. 

 

Grimmjow glanced over at his charging arm. The second small blue light in a series of five blinked back at him. Still too dead to really be useful then. Not worth the time it would take to put on.

 

Instead, he reached under the couch for one of the many knives he’d hidden around his apartment not long after moving in. 

 

Grimmjow stalked towards the door on quiet feet, wary of what he would find on the other side. He reached for the handle and swung the door open, swiftly shifting his weight and his grip to point the knife at his trespasser's throat. 

 

Kurosaki stood in his doorway, one hand raised in preparation to knock again. He was a little damp from the light, misty rain that had started falling in the late afternoon, the low ponytail pulled over his shoulder was sticking to the side of his face. There were dark rings under his eyes that suggested he hadn’t gotten much sleep. 

 

Not a threat.

 

The visored blinked slowly at finding himself suddenly held at knifepoint, but easily took it in stride. His attention soon landed on the empty socket where the mechanic’s left arm should have been, expression immediately tightening with worry. “Where’s-”

 

Grimmjow retracted the knife, holding it in a loose grip by his side as he rolled his eyes. Seriously? “Charging, dipshit.” 

 

“Right.” The visored’s cheeks actually pinked a little in embarrassment as he considered the obvious answer. 

 

Grimmjow wanted to savor that embarrassment, but there were a few pressing questions of his own he needed answers to. “How the fuck did you get in? I already locked up for the day.”

 

Kurosaki quirked an eyebrow at him. “You mean, you  _ can’t _ think of at least six ways to bypass a biometric lock? Your dossier said breaking and entering was one of your specialties.”

 

In Grimmjow’s experience, the words “Kurosaki” and “breaking and entering” combined in only one way with disastrous results. Just thought of it had him unconsciously gripping the knife tighter as he snarled in the visored’s face. “I swear to god Kurosaki, if you came through my windows again-” 

 

“Jeeze, I came through the door, ok! It’s not even damaged! I used a bypass program.” Kurosaki rocked back on his heels to put a little more space between them, but otherwise stood his ground. He eyed the mechanic dubiously as he worked to put a lid on his sudden temper. “Why are you so grumpy today anyway?”

 

Rather than answer, Grimmjow countered with a question of his own. “Where were you this morning?” That was way too needy, wasn’t it?  _ Fuck. _

 

“Sleeping? I had a late night. There was a lot to do.” Visored stuff then. The roundabout answer was probably as close as the two would ever come to discussing what Kurosaki did with his nights. “Decided to catch an extra hour before I had to clock in at work. Why?”

 

“... No reason.” Kurosaki cocked his head at the evasive answer, golden-brown eyes narrowed as he stared the mechanic down. 

 

“You didn’t make yourself coffee this morning did you?”

 

Grimmjow harrumphed and stomped back over to the couch. Busted. “What are you doing here anyway.”

 

Kurosaki held up a large plastic bag as he stepped into the apartment, closing the door gently behind him. “Is takeout an acceptable stand-in for coffee?” He asked, lips turning up in a pleased smirk as the mechanic visibly perked up. 

 

Grimmjow’s mouth was already watering at the prospect of food that wasn’t dirt cheap rice bowls or ramen, but he did his best not to look too eager. “Depends on what you brought me,” He hedged. “Is this another thing you got Pigtails to spill the beans on? Seems like she’s giving away all my secrets these days.”

 

Kurosaki’s smirk bloomed into a self-satisfied grin as he dangled the bag in Grimmjow’s face. “One extra-large order of king prawn szechuan noodles and a side of egg rolls from  _ RoboChef _ , coming right up.”

 

Grimmjow practically lunged for the bag. What was it he’d said about looking over eager? Don’t? Yeah, fuck that. “Give it here.” 

 

Kurosaki drew away slightly, maneuvering the bag just out of reach of his grabbing hand. Fortunately, he plopped it in his lap and wandered over to the apartment’s tiny kitchenette before the mechanic could build up enough steam to start cussing him out. 

 

“Stay there. I’ll get you some chopsticks.”

 

Grimmjow bared his teeth at his retreating back. Dick. 

 

Of course, Kurosaki didn’t actually know where he kept his utensils, so he was forced to wait impatiently while the guy rummaged through what must have been every one of his kitchen drawers. 

 

“I was just about to call a rescue party.” He sassed when the visored finally returned. “Didn’t think it was possible to get lost in there.”

 

Kurosaki merely rolled his eyes and flicked the mechanic’s forehead before strolling back to the kitchen and started poking around like he owned the place. 

 

Grimmjow was a little too busy processing what he’d just done to notice. Had Kurosaki really just flicked him? Did he want to get mauled? The enticing scent of the spicy meal in his lap quickly pulled him out of his homicidal thoughts. He could murder Kurosaki after he’d gorged himself on the best noodles in the city. 

 

Kurosaki meanwhile, had started rummaging around in his fridge. “Oatmilk?” He questioned, examining the blue carton he’d picked up with curiosity. “Always thought that was an interesting choice.”

 

“Shut up. It’s better than that rice garbage everyone else around here drinks.” The mechanic grumbled around a mouthful of noodles, a little unsure why he felt the need to defend his beverage choices of all things. But Kurosaki was giving him that eyebrow raise that made him feel like had to keep talking. “I’d rather drink poison than that shit.”

 

“If you say so.” Kurosaki closed the fridge and started going through his cabinets. Grimmjow eyed him suspiciously as he slurped down his noodles. 

 

“It’s creamy.” He insisted defensively. “Goes good with coffee. The hell are you looking for in my cabinets?”

 

Kurosaki barely glanced at him as he rummaged through his cupboards. “What did you do with all of those travel mugs? You didn’t throw them away did you?”

 

Grimmjow jabbed his chopsticks at his sink. “Check the dish rack, dumbass.”

 

The visored made a pleased noise as he spotted them on the rack, abandoning his perusal of the cabinets to gather them up and then headed for the door. 

“Well, enjoy the noodles, Grimm. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He called as he rushed out, shutting the door firmly behind him. Grimmjow sat frozen on the couch, a trail of noodles running down from his mouth as he stared after the visored in bewilderment. 

 

Wait,  _ what? _

 

\----

 

In a move that Grimmjow’s sanity could only thank him for, Kurosaki had backed off a little in his game of, well, whatever the hell this was. 

 

Sure, he still showed up every morning with coffee. And yes, he still pestered Grimmjow about paying him back—though honestly even that felt like he was doing it because it was an established part of their routine these days, not a serious attempt to sway him. 

 

But maybe he’d realized how weirded out Grimmjow was getting with all the food, and the gifts, and being in his personal space because that, at least, had stopped for a few days. 

 

Kurosaki was still trying to throw money at him though. 

 

Their heated arguments had stopped; a while ago actually, now that he thought about it. There wasn’t exactly a need to be serious about their daily squabble over money anymore because the visored had found a far more effective way of forcing Grimmjow to take it. 

 

Which was why he was currently sighing in resigned exasperation as he examined the small crypto-disk he held pinched between forefinger and thumb. 

 

He’d found this one quite unexpectedly in a tub of washers that had been left out on the workbench. Kurosaki hadn’t even shown up yet today. Who knew when he’d managed to sneak it into the bin.

 

This was hardly the first one either. Not long after Kurosaki’s quick exit from the apartment after bringing him dinner, Grimmjow had come across the one he’d slipped into the cutlery drawer. Eventually he’d found one hidden in the fridge as well. 

 

Most of them he found in the garage; in his toolbox, left out on the workbench, tucked in between the pages of his clipboard. Sure, every day he tried to give them back, but they only ended up hidden in new places. 

 

Grimmjow honestly hoped Kurosaki was keeping track of just how much money he was throwing his way in these disks. The guy was gonna go broke himself trying to “pay him back” at this rate. 

 

He made to chuck the disk into a small pile of others like it. Eventually he’d figure out how to force Kurosaki to take them all back.  

 

But for some reason he found himself aborting the movement. Temptation finally catching up to him after all these weeks of resistance. 

 

Maybe he could keep this one? It was only n¥5,000. Enough for one or two meals. Maybe four if he was careful. Surely, he wasn’t admitting defeat if he only kept a tiny bit. And if Kurosaki wasn’t here to see him do it, then it didn’t count. Right?

 

He stuffed it into his jacket pocket after a few more moments of indecision.

 

Totally not defeat.

 

Grimmjow flipped off the overhead lights and headed for the door. It was still early for a Saturday and he didn’t have to open for a couple more hours. Pigtails had recently said something about a new pasty she’d added to the breakfast menu and the fuzzball was probably missing him by now too. He should visit. 

 

Kurosaki was waiting in the street for him, leaning up against the graffitied wall opposite the shop and looking exactly as he had the first time he’d been there. He was never going to get rid of this guy was he?

 

For some reason Grimmjow wasn’t quite as mad about that as he felt he should be. 

 

His gaze automatically went to Kurosaki’s hands only to return quickly to his face, a single blue eyebrow raised in question. 

 

Kurosaki shrugged, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets to help ward off the morning chill. “Thought I’d try to convince you to convince you to go to  _ Kittens _ with me today.” He admitted easily. 

 

“Guess you’re lucky today.” Grimmjow grunted. “I was headed there anyway.” He rolled his eyes as the visored perked up at his easy acceptance. “Don’t get too excited, asshole. I’m just using you for coffee.”

 

Kurosaki only laughed as he fell into step beside the mechanic. “I can live with that.”

 

They settled into a companionable silence as they walked towards the main drag, a light breeze blowing in their faces. Grimmjow shivered and hunched deeper into his jacket. Karakura was experiencing a small break in the persistent rain that fell this time of year, but it had been replaced with a bitter chill that had his metal joints creaking uncomfortably. He shoved his right hand into the pocket of his moto-jacket to protect it from the cold, faltering when he felt it bump into something small and round.  _ What the? _

 

Oh. He’d already forgotten about that. He’d been planning on keeping this one, but now that Kurosaki was here, maybe there was a better use for it? 

 

“Oi!” 

 

Kurosaki only just managed to catch the small disk Grimmjow coin flipped at his face. The mechanic gleefully savored the few seconds of bewilderment he was allowed to witness before the guy finally recognized the object that had nearly struck him in the eye. “Stop hiding those things in my tools, dipshit. I almost crushed one with a socket wrench yesterday.”

 

Kurosaki looked up from his examination of the disk in his palm, a bright grin lighting up his features. It gave Grimmjow some kind of weird heartburn. Great. Did he need to see a doctor now too? He definitely couldn’t afford that.  

 

“The hell are you smiling about?” he squinted suspiciously. “You aren’t usually this happy when I tell you not to give me money.”

 

“That wasn’t  _ don’t give me money _ , Grimm,” the visored pointed out triumphantly. “That was  _ don’t give it to me in this specific way _ .”

 

Goddamnit. The little fucker was right. “...I fuckin’ hate you.” He grouched, spinning on his heel and stomping off down the alley to hide the embarrassed flush tinting his cheeks. 

 

Kurosaki caught up to him quickly, matching Grimmjow’s pace with an obnoxious new spring in his step while he stewed sullenly over giving the guy the upper hand for the rest of their short walk. 

 

Mega Machine Kitten’s giant pink sign had never been such a welcome sight as they rounded the corner onto the main drag. Grimmjow picked up his pace to a light jog and cut diagonally across the street, eager to leave the awkward situation he had created for himself behind. 

 

The door chime had barely stopped ringing when a loud drawn out meow followed by a heavy  _ thump _ drew the attention of every person in the shop to an orange bullet zooming its way across the floor to attach itself to Grimmjow’s pant leg.

 

“How do you always know when it’s me, you giant limpet?” Grimmjow questioned with an exasperated sigh. He winced as three sets of sharp claws dug into his thigh. The cat chattered at him impatiently. “Alright, you fuzzball, I hear you.” 

 

Somewhere to his right, Kurosaki was laughing at him again. Or maybe he’d never really stopped. 

 

What a dick. 

 

Grimmjow boosted his leg off the ground and scooped the large tomcat into his arms. Fuzzball immediately went to work butting his furry little head against Grimmjow’s chin with the kind of enthusiasm and disregard for personal space that only cats could muster before stretching up until his cybernetic paw nearly pressed Grimmjow’s eye to groom one of his eyebrows.

“Gross, asshole.” The half-hearted complaint was muffled by the cat’s soft underbelly as it wrapped its paws around his head and tried to drag his hairline into licking distance. “What else have you licked with that tongue today?”

 

“Speaking of assholes, I’m pretty sure I spotted him licking his own a little while ago,” a feminine voice deadpanned from behind the counter. “Looks like he’s upgraded to a bigger one.”

 

Grimmjow unwrapped one arm from around the cat so he could flip Pigtails the bird. “Don’t you have to worry about running off customers with that kind of language?”

 

“Hardly,” she sniffed. “The only customer I treat this way is you.”

 

Grimmjow made a noise of disgust and pried the cat away from his face just enough to send her a dirty look. “That’s just fuckin’ rude.” 

 

Pigtails rolled her eyes dismissively. “Ichigo! It’s good to see you! You stopped coming in once your figured out how to make Grimm’s coffee order.”

 

Grimmjow turned just in time to watch a spectacular blush bloom across Kurosaki’s nose and cheeks. “Sorry,” he muttered as he rubbed at the back of his neck and shifted nervously. “Got caught up doing things.”

 

“I’m sure you have your hands full with this lug.” She giggled, waving at the mechanic. “He’s more dense than concrete sometimes. I don’t know why you decided on him of all people.”

 

“What the hell are you two talking about? I’m not fucking dense.”

 

There was a beat of silence before Pigtails burst into laughter. The blush on Kurosaki’s cheeks slowly spread to the rest of his face. 

 

Grimmjow glared as he finally managed to coax Fuzzball off his head and settle him in the cradle of his prosthetic arm. They were conspiring against him, he was sure.

 

“So what are you here for today?” Pigtails asked when she finally got ahold of herself. “Takeaway, or staying a while?”

 

“Thought we’d get breakfast,” Kurosaki mumbled, bright red flush only just starting to fade.

 

Riruka shot him a significant look that Grimmjow was honestly afraid to interpret, but let whatever thought Kurosaki had triggered go. “I already know what Concrete over here wants, but you’ve never ordered for yourself before.”

 

“Hot Chocolate.” Kurosaki answered immediately. “And can I get one of those new blueberry scones?”

 

“One for me too.” Grimmjow grumbled petulantly. Concrete?  _ Seriously?  _ Was this payback for all the years of calling her Pigtails?

 

Well, he was never using her actual name now. 

 

Once she had retreated to fill their order he rounded in Kurosaki. “Hot chocolate? Really?”

 

“It’s chocolate!” Kurosaki defended. “Who says no to chocolate?”

 

“That shits’s too sweet.” 

 

The glare Kurosaki leveled him with could have melted steel. Apparently he felt as strongly about chocolate as Grimmjow did about coffee and a dude shouldn’t trash talk it around him unless they were looking to get murdered on the spot. 

 

He kinda liked Kurosaki’s murder-glare though. It looked good on that pretty face of his and sent an odd tingly feeling thrilling down his spine. Grimmjow’s lips curled back into a sharp, predatory grin as he met the visored’s stare, blue eyes lighting up in challenge.

 

He should trash talk chocolate more often. 

 

It was probably a good thing that Pigtails chose that moment to return with their order. Another few seconds of this standoff and they probably would have started brawling. 

 

“If you two are going to get caught up gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes, please do it somewhere other than in front of my coffee bar.” She sniffed, shoving two large mugs across the dark surface. 

 

Grimmjow glanced down at his drink as it came to a stop in front of him, letting the cracking electric tension between them fade. “If that’s your idea of a loving stare, then you’ve got problems, Pigtails.” He drawled, reaching for it with his free hand. He still felt a bit tingly though. 

 

Weird. 

 

“It’s not.” She replied cattily. “But it’s obviously yours. That will be n¥1950 please.”

 

Grimmjow’s grip faltered on his coffee, the caramel colored liquid sloshing alarmingly. He hastily set it down before he could spill any of the precious liquid and leaned hard into the counter. “Oi! What do you mea-”

 

Kurosaki cleared his throat loudly and thrust a small disk in front of Pigtails’ nose to break up the brewing argument. “This should cover it!”

 

Grimmjow turned his head sharply, ready to snap at Kurosaki as well, but there something a little odd about the situation that distracted him. It wasn’t like he knew the guy well, but as far as he knew, Kurosaki was the kind of guy who usually paid for things with his PAD, not cash. 

 

He squinted at the little disk as Pigtails plucked it from his fingers. Was that? He switched his narrow-eyed gaze from the little disk to the smirk on Kurosaki’s lips, then up to catch the self-satisfied gleam in his eyes as he stared Grimmjow down. 

 

Yep. It was. The little shit was one-upping him left and right today. 

 

“Dick.” 

 

He pushed off the counter, adjusting his hold on the cat in his arm as he snatched his coffee off the bar and marched towards his favorite table in a secluded corner of the cafe. 

 

Kurosaki came trailing after him a few moments later, hot chocolate and scones in hand. He set the goods on the low table and slid one of the pastries a short distance across the smooth, mint colored plastic until it bumped into Grimmjow’s coffee mug. 

 

Grimmjow looked up from his studious repositioning of Fuzzball from his shoulder to his lap, blue eyes flicking from the scone to Kurosaki’s face. The visored’s expression teetered on the edge between smug and apologetic and Grimmjow found himself folding like a house of cards, grumbling quietly as he dragged the scone the rest of the short distance across the table. 

 

How the fuck did the asshole pull that off?

 

“How did you even find this place to begin with?” Kurosaki asked when they had both shed their jackets and settled, curious stare wandering around the shop until it landed on a flashing pastel purple light fixture in the shape of a heart. “I wouldn’t have pegged you to be into a place this...cute.”  

 

Grimmjow shrugged, sipping at his coffee as Fuzzball kneaded away at his jeans, purring like a motor. “Someone at another cafe recommended this place. The enhancements I got while I was working for that bastard make me resistant to most drugs. I was having trouble finding a blend caffeinated enough to actually work, and  _ Bonanza _ is apparently the strongest stuff you can get in Karakura.”

 

One of Kurosaki’s eyebrows quirked in a skeptical arch, disappearing behind his shaggy bangs. “This is the last place I would have thought to look for a hardcore brew.”

 

“I thought that at first too.” The mechanic grumbled into his mug, gaze flickering down to watch the way his fingers dug into Fuzzball’s fur. He’d been staring at that eyebrow what the the  _ fuck.  _ “It’s a specialty item that generates a lot of revenue for the shop. Helps keep the rescue program going. I stuck around the place because Pigtails and Cyclops are good people.”

 

And for the cats. But Kurosaki didn’t need to know that. 

 

Kurosaki cocked his head curiously. “Cyclops?”

 

“You haven’t met him yet?” the mechanic questioned, sitting a little straighter. “Really big guy with a red mohawk? Has those optical cybernetics that kind of look like sunglasses?” He held his hands up in front of his face in the universal hand signal for glasses. 

 

Kurosaki’s lips twitched as he valiantly suppressed a laugh. “Oh,  _ him.  _ What’s his name again? Ed- something? Edward?”

 

“Edrad.” He rolled his eyes. Was this guy bad with names or something? 

 

“He’s the vet here right?” The visored, confirmed absently, “Riruka introduced us when I made that donation.” 

 

Grimmjow huffed at the mention of the donation that bought the visored Pigtails’ favor, but Kurosaki's faraway look sharpened as something in his memory caught his attention. “He still has two eyes though!”

 

“But it’s like that Star Trek guy! It's a big cybernetic visor!”

 

That questioning eyebrow arch was back. “Who even watches Star Trek anymore?” The visored asked incredulously. “Didn’t it come out like, a hundred years ago?”

 

The mechanic bared his teeth defensively. “I can’t talk to you if you don’t like Star Trek.”

 

Fuzzball made an unhappy noise as he dragged his fingers the wrong way though his fur a little too harshly and disturbed his nap. He smoothed the fur back into place gently in apology. 

 

Ok, so maybe be was a little too worked up about Star Trek. 

 

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it!” Kurosaki insisted defensively. “I said it was old!”

 

“It's a classic!”

 

The visored rolled his eyes, but dropped the argument in favor of dragging their conversation back on track. “So Edrad is the one who fixes up all the cats here, right? Some of the stuff he’s pulled off with prosthetics is pretty amazing.”

 

“Edrad is a genius with cybernetics.” Grimmjow agreed. After a moment of hesitation he shrugged and continued apathetically. “I even got a bit of advice from him when building mine. Helped me with the neutral interface design among other things.”

 

Kurosaki glanced at the tungsten arm in interest. It was easily visible now below the short sleeve of his shirt, the bright metal gleaming under the shifting colors of the cafe’s decorative lights. 

 

“You-  _ woah! _ ” 

 

Whatever question Kurosaki was about to ask was interrupted when a small, black and white cat with artificial eyes hopped unsteadily onto the table, almost taking out his hot chocolate. He hastily slid the half-full mug aside to make room for their visitor as the cat tottered towards him and started butting its head against one of his hands, impatient for attention. 

 

“That’s Oreo,” Grimmjow smirked. “She just got new eyes and is still adjusting. Apparently.” Fuzzball shifted in his lap, head rising above the table top to stare at her until he was satisfied she wasn’t there to dispute his claim to Grimmjow’s attention and then settled back into his lap. 

 

Kurosaki obligingly scratched under her chin for a few moments until she decided she was satisfied and hopped off the table to wander away. 

 

“You built it?” 

 

Grimmjow half-shrugged as he sipped at his coffee. “Wasn’t going to keep any tech that bastard commissioned attached to me. Ditched that one when I left and built this one from aftermarket parts.”

 

The visored nodded thoughtfully, looking at the prosthetic limb with newfound appreciation. “That makes sense,” he conceded. “It’s really impressive workmanship.” He bit his lip, eyes lingering over the details of the limb. 

 

“Just spit it out already,” Grimmjow snapped, eyebrows scrunched in an annoyed glare. It was obvious that he had questions about his arm that he’d been dying to ask. 

 

And here he was beginning to think he’d found someone with the sense not to ask intrusive questions. Best get it over with. 

 

Kurosaki held out for a few more seconds before his restraint snapped like an old rubber band. “Have you ever used you arm as a flashlight?” He blurted out, stumbling over the words like he was still trying to keep them in, cheeks already pinking in embarrassment. “It lights up, right? Seems pretty convenient.”

 

That...was not what he was expecting. “ _ A flashli- _ What kind of question is that, dipshit!?” Grimmjow sputtered, the snappish replies he kept in reserve for situations like these did  _ not _ cover this. 

 

Kurosaki’s blush intensified to an absolutely brilliant shade of red that consumed his entire face as he determinedly stared at a cat on the other side of the cafe—nowhere near Grimmjow. “I was just curious!”  He defended weakly, shifting in his seat. 

 

_ “Uh huh.” _

 

He hesitated, then, realizing he’d already committed to the question, mumbled petulantly. “I’d do it.” 

 

Grimmjow settled deeper into his seat with a snort, much more relaxed now that it was clear Kurosaki wasn’t actually interested in poking at old wounds. “Well I already knew you were a dumbass.” 

 

(He had, infact, used his arm as a flashlight. Not that he would admit that on pain of death.)

 

\----

 

Grimmjow had almost thought Kurosaki wouldn’t turn up the next day with the way he’d spent the remainder if their time at the cafe simmering in quiet embarrassment, and at first, the lack of pebbles being tossed at his window bright and early Sunday morning appeared to confirm that suspicion. 

 

If he’d known that all he needed to get rid of the guy was a little humiliation, he would have arranged something sooner. 

 

Seriously. 

 

But Kurosaki proved him wrong later that afternoon when, once again, he came knocking on his apartment door despite the fact that the garage was locked tight. 

 

“How the hell did you get in this time?” The mechanic snarled incredulously. “I upgraded the software on those locks.” He owed Shady Bastard favors— _ multiple! _ —for that upgrade. 

 

Kurosaki shrugged lazily and flashed him a shit-eating grin, loose hair glittering with sparse drops of rain. “I upgraded my bypass program?”

 

The rise and fall of his shoulders caused the large paper bags he held cradled in each arm to crinkle quietly as they were crushed slightly with the movement, drawing Grimmjow’s attention.

 

He squinted at them suspiciously, but stepped back just enough for Kurosaki to slip into the apartment. The little shit wouldn’t go away until he'd finished whatever self appointed task he’d fixated on for the day. May as well get it over with. “The hell is all this?”

 

“Groceries.”

 

And indeed, they were groceries. Grimmjow’s eyebrows crept increasingly closer to his hairline as he watched the visored pull out an assortment of food items including cereal bars, a new bag of  _ Bonanza _ , oat milk, and a few different varieties of the higher quality quick-meals he’d only been able to stare at longingly lately. 

 

“You bought me groceries.” He stated in flat disbelief, rooted in place by the still open door as Kurosaki started stowing items in his cabinets.  _ Guess all that snooping came in handy _ he noted, completely stupefied. There was even beer in there. Was that a  _ Sour?  _ How did Kurosaki even know he liked Sours? Pigtails didn’t know that. _ “Why?” _

 

Kurosaki looked at him like  _ he _ was the one behaving oddly, which was totally wrong since he was the one  _ buying Grimmjow groceries _ . “I’ve seen what you eat, dude. How do you stay so buff on nothing but coffee, instant rice bowls, and shitty ramen?” 

 

Grimmjow suddenly remembered he wasn’t wearing a shirt when Kurosaki’s stare went from stern to a little dazed as it slid across the broad expanse of his chest to his well-defined bicep. “Genetic enhancement.” He deadpanned, crossing his arms over his torso. Should he preen under the attention, or put a shirt on? He glanced down at the familiar green box in the visored’s hands “You can’t get Girl Scout cookies at the grocery store.”

 

Kurosaki blinked; once, twice, and then the moment—whatever the hell that was—was gone. “My sister is a troop leader. We stock up.”

 

“You have a sister?” This was news....Not that he actually cared about Kurosaki’s personal life or anything. 

 

Kurosaki paused, Girl Scout cookies halfway in the cabinet, apparently only just realizing what he'd said. “Two. Uh, they’re twins.”

 

They lapsed into silence. Kurosaki suddenly in a hurry to finish stocking his tiny kitchen. When the last item was stowed, he stuffed the paper bags into Grimmjow’s overflowing recycling bin.

 

“That should be everything,” he said, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck and looking anywhere but at him. “I’ll go now.”

 

Grimmjow arched an eyebrow and shifted his weight so that he was leaning against the open door, offering the visored an unobstructed path out of the apartment. “Oookay?” Was he blushing again? Really?

 

Just like the last time he’d been there, Kurosaki collected all of the reusable coffee mugs from his dish rack before rushing out the door, passing so close to Grimmjow that his arm was brushing against bare chest and arms. Grimmjow watched him clunk down the stairs and within a few more seconds he heard the shop door open and shut quickly, and finally a loud  _ beep  _ as the biometric lock engaged. 

 

And suddenly he was alone again. 

 

Grimmjow glanced around the apartment in a ridiculous need to reassure himself that Kurosaki was truly gone, then dove for the overhead cabinets. 

 

Those Thin Mints weren’t going to last an hour. 

 

\----

 

The following week passed swiftly in an uninterrupted routine of coffee and cryptocurrency and, all too soon, Grimmjow found himself once again making the short walk to Mega Machine Kittens with Kurosaki by his side. 

 

How the fuck had coming here together every Saturday become part of their routine?

 

Seriously.  _ How? _

 

But here they were, emerging onto the main drag together, the cafe’s oversized neon sign blinking its bright pink clarion call, drawing them in out of the misty damp of the early morning and into its friendly, coffee scented warmth. 

 

Kurosaki stopped him with a hand on his shoulder just as they stepped foot on the sidewalk outside of the shop, Grimmjow’s arm already halfway outstretched for the door. 

 

“Wait a sec,” he said, digging though his jacket pocket as Grimmjow turned towards him, lips curled back in a snarl at the unexpected contact. But Kurosaki was already grasping his outstretched forearm, drawing it towards him and pressing a handful of small objects into his hand. “Here.”

 

Grimmjow wouldn’t exactly call himself touch-adverse, but there weren’t many people he allowed that close, and Kurosaki wasn’t quite one of them. Up until now, the visored had pretty much avoided invading his personal space and it was jarring to have him break convention out of the blue. 

 

He squinted down at the arm held gently in Kurosaki’s grasp. Between the press of their hands he could make out a variety of small cat toys in an assortment of plastics, metals, and obnoxiously bright colors.

 

“What the hell are these for?” He snapped, refusing to take proper hold of them. 

 

“They’re for Orange,” Kurosaki explained, pressing the toys more firmly into his palm. 

 

Grimmjow pushed back. “So? Why are you giving them to me? Give them to him yourself.”

 

“You’re his favorite!” Kurosaki insisted, trying to force Grimmjow’s fingers to wrap around the small toys. too bad for him he’d chosen the prosthetic hand and no human force was going to move those fingers without Grimmjow’s say-so. “You wouldn’t want him to be sad because someone brought him toys but his favorite human didn’t?” 

 

Apparently if force was out, emotional manipulation was in. 

 

The stare Grimmjow leveled him with was flat and unimpressed. “He’s a cat, Kurosaki. I don’t think he’s capable of that kind of complex thought.”

 

“Well,” Kurosaki drawled, changing tack lighting quick, “What about you? Are you saying that you wouldn’t be jealous if I made Orange happy by giving him a toy and you didn’t?”

 

He had a point. Fuck. “Give ‘em here.” He ignored the satisfied little smile twitching at the corners of Kurosaki’s lips as he stuffed the small toys into his his pocket and yanked open the door. 

 

Five minutes later they were parked at his favorite table, watching Fuzzball go absolutely crazy for a small robotic mouse. The toy beeped and squeaked, it’s little robotic “brain” lighting up in a random pattern of rainbow colors as it weaved across the floor.

 

Ok, so maybe the toys had been a good idea. Not that he’d admit that to Kurosaki. 

 

Grimmjow snorted as the big tabby smacked the toy halfway across the room then half slid, half scrambled after it, catching it between his front paws before its internal gyros could tip it back on its tiny metal feet. The cat sprawled out on his side and enthusiastically gnawed at the toy’s head. 

 

Apparently the hunter’s instincts buried in the id brain of every domesticated cat didn’t care if it wasn’t the real thing or not. 

 

“Maybe I should be jealous of the toy,” He grumbled around his coffee cup, picking up the thread of their earlier squabble. “He abandoned me for it pretty quick.” 

 

That was kind of a lie though. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Fuzzball so excited for something in his life, and it was satisfying to know he’d done something to make the cat that happy. 

 

He  _ was _ a bit jealous though, just not of the toy. No, he was jealous because  _ he’d _ never thought of bringing the old tomcat toys before. 

 

Kurosaki had given them to him to give to Fuzzball so he wouldn’t be jealous of him (and wasn’t that a headache to parse), but now he wasn’t sure if that that scenario would bite worse than knowing his good deed was really Kurosaki’s and not his.

 

So yeah, he was jealous because Kurosaki was thoughtful. It was the dumbest thing he’d ever felt. 

 

Did it really matter though? He watched as the cat accidentally murder kicked the toy right out of his own paws and the chase was on again. Fuzzball was happy and Grimmjow was still his favorite person. That’s what he should be focused on, right? The rest was just dumb bullshit. 

 

“He really likes you.”

 

Grimmjow blinked and turned towards the visored. Kurosaki had that oddly soft expression on his face again; the same one from weeks ago in his garage. He had one elbow on the table, narrow chin resting on the heel of his palm, black bangs swept to the side so he could watch the mechanic without them getting in the way. His other hand wrapped loosely around his steaming mug of hot chocolate. 

 

Grimmjow shifted in seat and went back to watching Fuzzball go apeshit over the toy mouse. Looking at Kurosaki was giving him that weird heartburn again; best if he didn’t. 

 

“Fuzzball? Yeah, we’re twins. Got matching prosthetics and everything.” 

 

He could just see the curl of Kurosaki's knowing smile out of the corner of his eye. “Is that why you bonded with him to begin with?”

 

On the other side of the cafe, Fuzzball had caught the mouse again, carrying it firmly between his jaws as he trotted back over to their table, tail pointed high in the air in accomplishment. It’s little legs were still going, kicking futilely at nothing like it could still run its way out of the tabby’s pointy little maw. 

 

“Maybe,” Grimmjow hedged, as the the cat hopped into his lap, depositing his prize on his knee. The mechanic snatched it up before it could go running off again, flipping it over to slide the small switch on its underbelly with his thumb. The toy immediately stilled, but Fuzzball still watched avidly as he set it on the table, furry little body tensed up and ready to pounce. “But he’s a great cat. Really affectionate. Who wouldn’t like him?” He defended, gently scratching the short fur between his ears to calm him down. 

 

Grimmjow cocked his head thoughtfully. Speaking of people liking him...

 

“I kinda feel like I should he insulted on his behalf that he hasn’t been adopted yet,” he muttered. 

 

Kurosaki shot him a incredulous look, gaze flickering over to where Pigtails was working the counter and back again. Suspicion aroused, Grimmjow pinned him with a distrustful glare. 

 

“What?”

 

“You...haven’t noticed?” 

 

There was a look of dawning realization in Kurosaki’s eyes that set Grimmjow on edge. He scooped up the big orange cat and held him to his chest, eyebrows pinched together with the depth of his glare. Fuzzball immediately stated grooming the short blue hairs around his ear. 

 

The mechanic grimaced a little at the feeling of the cat’s sandpaper tongue on the thin skin around his ear. “Noticed what?” He growled.  

 

Kurosaki’s lips twitched like he was fighting a smile, honey-brown eyes brightening to a shade just shy of gold. “Nothing.”

 

The asshole was laughing at him. 

 

“If there’s something you want to tell me about this fuzzball, you’d better do it right now.” Grimmjow snarled, lips curled back and teeth bared in warning.

 

Kurosaki raised his hands placatingly, palms forward and fingers spread wide. “Really Grimm, it’s nothing. Forget about it.” The wide, innocent expression he was going for was ruined by that upward twitch at the corner of his mouth that he couldn’t quite control. 

 

It pissed him off. 

 

“Kurosaki, I fuckin’  _ swear _ .”

 

“I-I mean it!” Kurosaki was losing the battle with his laughter, the sound bubbling out in aborted snorts that kind of made it sound like he was choking while tears gathered in the corners of his eyes. 

 

Despite that, he waved his hands insistently to emphasize his words, warding off Grimmjow’s ire. “T-there’s nothing going on with Orange,  _ really. _ ”

 

“Then what the hell are you choking on air about over there?”

 

Kurosaki merely shook his head, arms wrapped tightly around his torso as he slowly curled in on himself until his forehead made contact with the table with a  _ thunk.  _ He stayed like that, entire body vibrating as he attempted to suppress his laughing fit, long hair pooling around him in a dark halo. 

 

Grimmjow tightened his grip on Fuzzball and started at him in abject horror. “You’re fuckin’ crazy.”

 

Kurosaki’s body only shook harder. 

 

Maybe the best course of action was to ignore this entire episode? That sounded like a reasonable plan. He sipped at his coffee, keeping a dubious squint focused on the rounded bow of Kurosaki's back as the minutes crawled by and the visored slowly scraped together his composure. 

 

“You done?” He asked waspishly when he’d finally straightened himself out. 

 

Kurosaki nodded vehemently, but the tight quivering of his shoulders told Grimmjow just how close he was to going back over the edge.

 

Grimmjow glared at him. Yeah. Ignoring this was a great plan.

  
  


He expelled a petulant huff, palms flat on the table as he pushed himself up. “I’m getting more coffee,” He called over his shoulder, letting the cat in his arms hop to to floor as he stalked towards the register. 

 

Kurosaki’s shoulders started shaking again. 

 

Dick.

 

“Oi, Pigtails.” He called as he neared the bar. She finished ringing up another customer and turned towards him, hands on her hips and one majenta eyebrow raised expectantly. He presented the empty cup with a demanding little shake. 

 

Pigtails rolled her eyes, but pulled a fresh mug from the rack on top of her espresso machine and snatched the empty one from his hands as she walked by. “Didn’t your mother teach you manners?” She sniffed. 

 

Grimmjow scratched his chin in mock-thought. “Hmm, nope.”

 

“Pity.”

 

He caught her hand as she slid his fresh cup across the coffee bar, leaning in close so he could keep their conversation quiet. “Is there anything going on with Fuzzball that I should know about?”

 

She blinked at him, startled. “No?”

 

“Hn.”

 

Pigtails shot him a confused look, then pushed up on her tiptoes so she could look over his shoulder at Kurosaki, who was probably still dying from suppressed laughter. 

 

Whatever she made of display seemed to satisfy her, since the confusion cleared from her face in favor of exasperation. “Orange is the same as always, Grimm. Nothing to worry about.”

 

Grimmjow squinted at her for a few seconds before he exhaled a long breath through his nose, shoulders sagging in acceptance. 

 

He started to dig around in his jacket pocket for cash, but Pigtails waved him off. “Don’t worry about paying, I’ll put it on Ichigo’s tab.”

 

“He has a  _ tab? _ ” 

 

She rolled her eyes. “Shoo. I have other customers to take care of.”

 

The last of Kurosaki’s laughter had thankfully died off by the time he returned, though the near-pout that replaced it wasn’t exactly an improvement. Fuzzball had his front paws on Kurosaki’s knee, stretching up to sniff at the activated holo-display of the PAD in the visored’s hands. 

 

“I have to go,” he sighed, giving the clock on the display a final, disappointed look before stowing it away. 

 

Grimmjow gestured expansively towards the door. “Don’t let me keep you.”

 

The visored rolled his eyes even as the corners of his lips twitched up in a fond sort of smile. He shrugged on his jacket, bent down to give Fuzzball one final pat, then made his way over to Pigtails. 

 

“See you around, Grimm.” He waved as he walked away, smiling at him over his shoulder. 

 

Coming from Kurosaki, it sounded a lot like a promise. 

 

\----

 

Kurosaki hadn’t shown his stupidly pretty mug in four days. 

 

Not that Grimmjow was counting.

 

_ Fuck _ , who was he kidding. He was. He definitely was. 

 

When the dumbass hadn’t shown up the morning after their latest coffee date at Mega Machine Kittens, he hadn’t thought much of it. It was a noticeable break in their routine, but the visored came around to invade his home in the afternoon often enough that it hadn’t set off any alarm bells. Then he’d gotten caught up in an unexpectedly tough fixer-upper and had completely forgotten about him for the rest of the day. 

 

The morning of day two rolled around damp and misty. Grimmjow had made himself coffee and headed down to the garage, ready to resume work on the problem bike. He only realized Kurosaki had never shown up the previous day when he caught himself glancing at the street every few minutes. 

 

It taken him a few seconds to realize he'd been looking for the guy, and a few seconds more for him to notice that for the first time in just over three weeks, he’d gone an entire day without seeing him. 

 

The observation had brought him up short. Kurosaki's annoyingly persistent presence had become so much a part of his life in the last few weeks that at first he didn’t know what to make of it. 

 

Then realization set in. There was only one reason he could think of that would explain his absence: Kurosaki had finally,  _ finally _ given up on his ridiculous plan to pay him back and was now doing what Grimmjow had wanted him to do in the first place—leave him the hell alone.

 

Grimmjow had almost almost whooped aloud in victory. After all this time, Kurosaki’s will had broken first and now he could return to a nice, quiet life far beneath Aizen’s radar. 

 

He was sure the out of character cheery tune he’d been whistling for the rest of the day had unnerved more than a few of his customers, especially when paired large, maniacal he hadn’t been able to wipe off his face. 

 

They’d probably thought he’d murdered someone. Or something along those lines. 

 

But beneath the giddy feeling of victory, there was a tiny seed of disappointment. He told himself he was simply missing the free coffee—it was cold and damp and he could really use another mug of it, ok?

 

That night, he’d found himself at  _ Lanzador,  _ one of his favorite bars in the area. He’d knocked back more than enough drinks in celebration for even his substance-resistant metabolism to throw up a white flag in defeat and result in him getting thoroughly sloshed. And if he’d done it on Kurosaki’s dime, so what?

 

On day three, he had staggered down the stairs with a pounding headache nearly an hour later than usual and still half drunk. He knew he was in trouble though, when the first coherent thought he managed to string together was  _ I hope Kurosaki is already here with coffee.  _

 

Grimmjow stumbled to a halt on the small landing at the bottom if the stairs, unfocused gaze directed at Pantera in her parking spot just in front of him as reality splashed down on him like cold water and sobered him twice as effectively. 

 

Grimmjow had often griped about how Kurosaki had so easily carved out a place for himself in his day; how he had effortlessly insinuated himself into his routine, refusing to take  _ no _ for an answer. 

 

The mechanic had spent  _ three weeks _ resisting, complaining, and fighting him at nearly every turn. But now that he’d gotten what he’d asked for, he could finally see it wasn’t what he wanted. 

 

Kurosaki was a Visored, sure. Dangerous to be around, the kind of person he couldn’t afford to associate with. But he’d also taken every sarcastic comment and snarled insult Grimmjow had thrown at him in stride and thrown them straight back. He’d stayed true to his word about keeping his encounters with Grimmjow secret from his own organization and he’d gone out of his way to pay back his debts in ways that Grimmjow would find meaningful. He’d paid attention to the small things that caused him trouble and found solutions. He’d listened to him rant about the things that interested him. He’d worried when he had no reason to. 

 

He’d...offered companionship Grimmjow had desperately needed in his life, yet refused to acknowledge. He’d become something important, expected,  _ wanted _ . 

 

And now all of that was gone. 

 

Because Kurosaki wasn’t coming back. Grimmjow had made sure of it. 

 

He’d spent the entire day swinging between unexpectedly strong grief at what he’d managed to lose without noticing and blinding rage that he even cared at all. He’d tried to lose himself in his work, but his thoughts were a whirlwind that wouldn’t settle, pulling him deeper and deeper into a foul mood. 

 

Night, for all that it had been sleepless, had brought clarity. After hours of circling thoughts, vehement denial, and hard admitted truths, he had come to a few conclusions. 

 

The most important being that Kurosaki probably hadn’t given up on him. He didn’t seem like the kind of guy who knew the meaning of defeat. And even if he did give up, he was definitely the kind of guy who would say so, not fuck off without a word. 

 

_ Which begged the question _ , he thought as he tiredly tightened a few lug nuts on the wheel of his current project,  _ where the hell was he _ ? 

 

The obvious conclusion was that he was off doing Visored business. As friendly as Kurosaki was towards him, it would make sense to keep something like that to himself. They’d pretty much avoided any mention of his nighttime activities and, well, Grimmjow  _ was _ an ex-Espada. 

 

Grimmjow’s lips slanted down in an unhappy line. For someone who wanted to stay as uninvolved with Karakura’s secret wars as possible, he felt pretty damn shitty that Kurosaki didn’t feel like he could be trusted with that kind of information. 

 

Kurosaki wasn’t around to bitch at about that though, so he continued tuning the motorbike in front of him in sullen silence. The guy would turn up eventually and Grimmjow would be ready to pay him back for this ridiculous emotional rollercoaster with a nice, hard gut punch when the time came. 

 

All he could do now was wait. 

 

\----

 

By Friday evening, six days without a sign of Kurosaki, Grimmjow was beginning to actually worry. 

 

He paced restlessly around his small apartment, trying to think of anything that would justify such a prolonged absence. In his time as an Espada, there hadn’t been all that many operations he’d done that had required close to an entire week in the field. Most were over in 48 hours or less. Surely, it was similar for the Visoreds?

 

But if that was the case, then where was Kurosaki? Had something gone wrong in whatever operation he’d been part of? Maybe he’d been injured? He’d never seen the visored fight, but Kurosaki had all the hallmarks of a skilled fighter and Grimmjow imagined he'd be tricky to take down. Yet that emotionless little bastard Ulquiorra had managed to do it before, right? 

 

What’s to say he couldn’t do it again?

 

He considered asking Shady Bastard to dig up what he could on the visored. If he knew where the dumbass lived, he could at least swing by to see if he was there. 

 

But, no. Neither of them needed the scrutiny that would come with an ex-Espada getting spotted anywhere near Kurosaki’s home. 

 

So waiting was still his only option. He hoped the asshole came back soon though. He was really starting to miss him. 

 

\----

 

Eight days after Kurosaki stopped showing up, loneliness drove Grimmjow out of his apartment and into Mega Machine Kittens. 

 

He should have been used to it. He’d existed in near solitude for years before Kurosaki crashed into his life, but now that he’d had a taste of life with Kurosaki in it, the empty quiet of his tiny studio grated on his nerves and highlighted what wasn’t there.

 

So he’d decided to spend his Sunday holed up in a secluded corner of Pigtails’ rainbow pastel cat cafe. It wasn’t like he was interacting with anyone, but it was a hell of a lot better than sulking around his apartment. 

 

It was almost closing time now. Outside, the sun had already set and the streets were dark save for the bright pools of color cast by neon lights. Fuzzball was curled up and snoozing in his lap in the same position he’d been in since the mechanic had returned from ordering his fourth cup of coffee nearly an hour ago. He idly scritched at the fur on the scruff of the cat’s neck and contemplated heading out. 

 

He didn’t want to go back to his empty apartment.

 

Fuzzball breathed in deeply, puffing out a quiet  _ mrrrrrp _ as he stretched languorously and shifted into a more comfortable position. The movement startled Grimmjow out of his absent petting, but it also sparked an idea. 

 

What if he didn’t have to go home to an empty apartment?

 

Kurosaki was god-knew where, but that didn’t stop him from finding companionship elsewhere. 

 

Even if it was the companionship of a cat. 

 

Like usual, the old tomcat had attached himself to Grimmjow the moment he’d walked through the door and hadn’t left his side since. The cat really was pretty fond of him, wasn’t he? 

 

And if he liked Grimmjow that much, maybe the mechanic could give him a new home. Hadn’t he been saying just last week that he was offended nobody had adopted him yet? What was stopping Grimmjow from adopting him himself? 

 

Mind made up, Grimmjow scooped the cat into his arms and marched towards the counter. Pigtails was busy cleaning the machines, but he wasted no time getting her attention. 

 

“I’m taking Fuzzball home with me.” 

 

Pigtails spun around and let out an excited shriek so loud he nearly went deaf. “Finally! I was beginning to think you’d never get your act together and take him home!”

 

_ “What?”  _ He’d misheard her, right?

 

“Really, Grimm?” she sniffed. “I took him off the adoptables list ages ago. You two are so attached to each other that Edrad and I have been waiting for you to adopt him for years.”

 

Grimmjow’s mind flashed back to Kurosaki’s hysterical laughing fit only a week ago in this very cafe. Even he’d known about this? 

 

What the fuck. 

 

“Well I’m taking him now so I guess you can stop waiting.” He huffed, studiously scratching behind Fuzzball’s ears so he wouldn’t have to look at Pigtails. “Just give me the damn adoption papers to fill out.”

 

“I’ve already filled out most of it for you!” 

She chirped as she practically skipped to the small office at the back of the shop, the magenta lights in her shoes going off like crazy. “I even made sure it was a paper copy since I know you’re allergic to electronic records!” 

 

Grimmjow glared at the door as she disappeared through it. Only a sadist should take this much enjoyment from his ignorance.

 

Pigtails came bouncing out of the office, papers in one hand and a large pink bag in the other. “Just fill in the remaining blanks and that’s it!” She slapped them onto the counter and shoved a sparkly pink pen in his face. “Are you going to officially change his name to Fuzzball?”

 

Grimmjow sneered as he shifted his grip on the cat so he could snatch the pen from her. “Tch. No. It’s a dumb name.”

 

She squinted at him speculatively. “You call him that all the time.”

 

“Orange is even more stupid than Fuzzball and I had to call him something.” 

 

Pigtails gave him a few seconds to scribble down his missing information before she started interrogating him again. “What are you going to name him then?”

 

Grimmjow shrugged awkwardly as the cat in question started kneading at the shoulder of his jacket. He shot the cat a warning glare that was happily ignored. “Don’t know yet.”

 

Pigtails raised one skeptical eyebrow at him. “Well, remember to fill out his name on your copy of the form when you decide. You can update us next time you stop in. I’m curious to know though,” she questioned as she took back her copy of the papers. “Why adopt him now? We’ve been waiting for it a long time, but this feels pretty sudden.”

 

Grimmjow scratched at the back of his head nervously, eyes on the street. “Just felt like it.”

 

Pigtails pursed her lips, unconvinced. “Does it have anything to do with Ichigo? I haven’t seen him around lately.”

 

She was too perceptive for her on good. “Neither have I.” He admitted reluctantly, shoulders slumped. “Last time I saw him was when we were here last week. The fee is n¥4,000 right?” He dug around in his pocket and drew out one of Kurosaki’s crypto-disks. 

 

Pigtails shook her head. “You aren’t paying to adopt Orange, Grimm. Edrad and I have been waiting for this day for too long. And don’t change the subject! What do you mean you haven’t seen him since last Saturday? He just disappeared on you? That- That asshole! I really thought he was interested in you! And you actually seemed to like him! I mean, you complained about him a lot but you still let him stick around! I helped him out so much! Ugh!”

 

Grimmjow rolled his eyes. “Chill, Pigtails. I wanted him to leave, remember?”

 

“But-” 

 

“Besides, I think he’s just busy. Doesn’t seem like the type to ghost people.”

 

“But you’re worried,” she pressed as she passed the large pink bag over the counter.

 

He shrugged and grabbed the bag, hefting the cat held in his arm a little as he turned for the door. It’s cheery tune played loudly as he pushed it open, letting in a chilly gust of wind. “He’s got some pretty dangerous extracurriculars. Let’s leave it at that.”

 

\----

 

Stud Muffin—Muff for short—was an absolute handful. 

 

Yeah, he’d named the cat Stud Muffin. The demon deserved an embarrassing name like that. 

 

The little terror had adjusted to his new home easily enough. He’d spent the evening of his adoption curiously sniffing around Grimmjow’s tiny apartment before promptly curling up on his pillow and going to sleep. 

 

Grimmjow had released an indignant snarl, but dutifully marched over to the couch for his single, lumpy throw pillow to use instead. 

 

But then he’d woken up in the small hours of the morning short on breath, instincts screaming that someone had snuck into his home and was smothering him. 

 

Turned out there was no intruder. Stud Muffin had simply decided to sleep on his face. 

 

Three AM Grimmjow had immediately decided on the name in petty revenge. 

 

Morning Grimmjow found that he was still very much onboard with the plan. The cat wound around his ankles as he stumbled across the apartment towards his kitchenette. He nearly fell flat on his face twice covering the short distance before he gave in and hefted the furry menace off the ground and onto his shoulder. 

 

“I give you a home and you repay me with multiple counts of attempted murder.” He grumbled as he flipped on a light and reached for the coffee grounds. “That’s just rude.”

 

Stud Muffin trilled at him and went to town licking his ear. 

 

Once the coffee pot was running, Grimmjow poked around in the large pink bag Pigtails had given him the night before. Just as he hoped, there were a few cans of cat food and a bag of treats along with a few miscellaneous items including. pastel pink booklet titled  _ Caring for Your New Mega Machine Cat _ in bold, mint lettering, a folder containing copies of all Stud Muffin’s documentation, power accessories for his prosthetic, and all of the cat toys Kurosaki had pressed on him several weeks ago. 

 

Ignoring the rest for the moment in favor of food, he fished out one of the cans and yanked the pull tab, wrinkling his nose in disgust as the pungent scent of wet cat food filled his small apartment. He quickly upended it into a bowl acquired from his dish rack and bent down to set it in the floor. Stud Muffin retracted his claws from of his sleep shirt as he did so, twisting around to land next to the bowl with a light  _ thump _ and eagerly shoving his furry little face into it. 

 

Grimmjow glared at him half-heartedly. “Didn’t take you long to abandon me for food,” he grumbled. 

 

Stud Muffin ignored him, as expected, tail curled high in the air and giving him an uninterrupted view of his fluffy butt. 

 

Rude. 

 

Cat successfully fed, he returned to his morning routine, fixing his coffee and grabbing a dry cereal bar to gnaw on, then making his way over to the tiny table located next to his rain- fogged kitchen window. He settled tiredly into the single chair beside it, resting an elbow heavily against the cold, metal surface as he sipped sluggishly at his coffee, unfocused gaze roving around the apartment as his attention wandered. 

 

The corner of the Muff’s records folder peeking out of the pink bag eventually caught his eye and he reached for it, catching the bag with his fingertips to drag it closer and extract the folder. As he did so, a small scrap of paper slipped out and floated to the floor. 

 

Curiously peaked, he leaned down to pick it up. A cursory inspection revealed it was a handwritten note in Pigtails’ curly script stating the name and location of a local pet-supply store. 

 

Guess he knew where he was spending his Sunday. 

 

Ten minutes later he was depositing his empty mug in the sink after a quick second cup and heading for the door. He was just pulling on his leather jacket when he felt Stud Muffin winding around his ankles. He looked down, pausing with one arm stuffed into its sleeve to see the cat staring up at him expectantly from between his feet. 

 

“You’re not coming with me.” He huffed as he resumed pulling on his jacket. “It’s wet outside today anyway. You’d be miserable.” Muff jumped on his shoulder anyway when he bent down to tie his boots. 

 

“Oi! Get off me, asshole!” Grimmjow peeled the cat off of him, grumbling petulantly as he heard the sound of claws catching against leather. He unceremoniously dropped the squirming fuzzball, ignoring the indignant yowl he received in response and heading towards the door. “You’re staying right here.” 

 

The light tapping of claws and metal against the floorboards warned him he had a follower. He rolled his eyes and stomped back towards the kitchenette to rummage around in the bag of cat accessories until he found the little robotic mouse that Muff had been obsessed with the week before. He flipped the tiny switch on its underbelly and placed it upright on the floor. It powered up with a cheery series of beeps and started scurrying across the weathered surface in a randomized path. Within seconds, Muff was scrambling after it, robotic paw scraping loudly against the scuffed floorboards. 

 

Using the distraction to his advantage, Grimmjow quickly slipped out the door and shut it tightly behind him. He made a quick stop in the garage to pick up one of Kurosaki’s crypto-disks from the pile, then stepped out of the shop door onto the street, hands stuffed in his pockets and shoulders hunched in for warmth as he set off towards his destination. 

 

Two hours and n¥33,000 later, Grimmjow stomped back into the apartment soaking wet and weighed down by all the necessities of cat ownership to the contents of his trashcan strewn across the floor. The bin itself was tipped over on its side and Muff’s furry tail was swaying back and forth in the mouth of the receptacle as he rooted through the trash still inside. 

 

Grimmjow dumped the 25 pound bags of litter and cat food off his shoulder, tossed the large bag of miscellaneous items aside, and launched himself across the apartment. 

 

“What are you doing, you furry asshole!” He yelped, grabbing the cat under his ribs and lifting him out of the bin. He held him up so they could see eye-to-eye. Muff chattered happily at him and licked his nose. “Gross. You were just eating garbage with that mouth. Is this revenge for leaving you here? I hope you’re happy. Now I have to clean all this up.”

 

He sighed as the furry menace started purring and dumped him on the tiny kitchen table. 

 

“I swear you weren’t this badly behaved at the cafe.”

 

\----

 

For all his trash-eating tendencies, Muff was good company. Grimmjow spent a quiet Monday working in the garage with the old tomcat perched on the saddle of his current project, chattering away and batting him on the head whenever he decided the mechanic had gone too long without petting him. 

 

He’d even caught Grimmjow straight on the nose once, while he was caught up staring intently at the street for far longer than necessary. As if doing so would make Kurosaki come back sooner. 

 

And that had to be one of the best parts of having the old cat around. Muff’s constant desire for attention meant that Grimmjow’s thoughts couldn’t spiral down into an endless loop of worry and bad ideas.

 

Didn’t mean he appreciated being hit on the nose though. The demon could put some force behind that metal paw of his. 

 

But Muff couldn’t keep Grimmjow’s thoughts from wandering to Kurosaki and his whereabouts all the time. In the early evening, after he’d closed up shop for the day, Grimmjow found himself sprawled out on his couch, head propped up on an armrest and Muff curled up and napping on his chest while both of their prosthetic limbs were on charge. Without a good distraction, his thoughts soon wandered back to Kurosaki. 

 

It was a week and a half with no sign of him now, and Grimmjow was starting to wonder if he was ever coming back—not because he thought the guy had given up on him again, but but because something must have gone terribly wrong. 

 

His imagination spiraled to all sorts or dark conclusions. Assuming Kurosaki hadn’t been killed, Aizen would jump at the chance to interrogate a Visored. Just thinking about the torture Kurosaki would be subject to in the bowels of that creepy fucker Szayel’s labs had him breaking out in cold sweat. 

 

Maybe he should break into that satellite compound in the neighboring district that Aizen used for some of his personal operations? Hacking wasn’t his forte but he could probably access enough to see if-

 

_ What the hell was he thinking?  _

 

Breaking into one of Aizen’s compounds?  _ Really? _ The only thing a plan like that was good for was ending up dead. 

 

This is why he needed a cat around to distract him. 

 

But why would he even consider going to such lengths for Kurosaki? He’d forged a few other relationships since he’d left That Bastard in the dust, many of them far longer lived than the rocky one he had with the visored, but he couldn’t see himself going to such lengths for anyone else. 

 

So what made Kurosaki special?

 

He thought back to what Pigtails had said about their relationship on the night he’d adopted Muff. At the time, he’d been happy to ignore what she’d been not-so-subtly implying—not just then, but for some time before that too—but it seemed that now was the time to examine the clues that had been right in front of his still-pink nose the entire time. 

 

_ “I really thought he was interested in you! And you actually seemed to like him! I mean, you complained about him a lot, but you still let him stick around!” _

 

Pigtails obviously thought there was something going on there, but what evidence was there for that? 

 

Well, there was Kurosaki with all the blushing and the whole  _ “you seem like a pretty cool guy even if you are a suspicious asshole” _ thing. And that weird fond look he’d been giving him while he’d rambled on about mechanics. And that last day at Kittens. And bringing him cookies. And groceries. And vintage tees. And, you know, putting up with Grimmjow being a total bastard half the time. 

 

So maybe Kurosaki had the hots for him. 

 

And maybe Grimmjow had admitted at least to himself that Kurosaki had a pretty face. And his laugh gave him that weird heartburn feeling. And he liked having him around. 

 

And apparently he was willing to storm one of Aizen’s compounds to find out what happened to him. 

 

So. Attraction. Was  _ that _ what this was? How the fuck did he miss that?

 

Come to think of it, their last couple outings to MMK were suspiciously date-like in hindsight. And what had Pigtails said on one of those maybe-dates that had Kurosaki blushing so hard he’d practically been able to feel it from several feet away?

 

_ “He’s more dense than concrete sometimes. I don’t know why you decided on him of all people.” _

 

How hadn’t he noticed Kurosaki was trying to woo him? It wasn’t like the guy had been subtle about it. 

 

Ok, so  _ maybe _ he was a little dense. Not that he’d ever admit that to anyone, let alone Pigtails. 

 

But what was he supposed to do with this information now? Kurosaki was still MIA, and the longer he was gone the more convinced he became that the visored was either dead, captured, or seriously injured. 

 

Grimmjow exhaled a deep sigh, squeezing his eyes shut as he ran calming fingers across his scalp. 

 

What a great time to finally realize he had the hots for the guy. 

 

If Kurosaki did turn up alive, Grimmjow would kill him himself over this.

 

\----

 

Grimmjow bolted awake as an almighty crash sounded throughout his apartment, cybernetic arm automatically lighting up blue as he prepared a small cero, eyes darting around, half-blind with sleep, looking for the source. 

 

His mind automatically leapt to thoughts of intruders and these days an intruder usually meant-

 

“Kurosaki?” He croaked, voice rough with sleep. 

 

Only the sound of hollow metal rolling across the floor was there in reply. 

 

His eyes eventually adjusted to the bright blue glow emanating from his prosthetic and he was able to discern the cause of the racket. His dish rack had been upended, its contents now scattered across the floor. In the middle of the mess, Muff was poking at an enameled travel mug. 

 

“Oi, Trashcat!” He barked, catching the fuzzball’s attention. “What do you think you’re doing?” 

 

He tried for a stern tone, though it was as ineffective as always. Seeing that his human was awake, Muff chattered at him and scampered onto the bed to butt his face against his bare chest. 

 

The mechanic grumbled tiredly, pushing the cat away so he could crawl out of bed. “What was all that for?” He groaned, glancing to the LINE panel by his bedside. The blue-lit holographic screen read 5:30 AM. Wonderful. No sense going back to sleep. “I know knocking stuff down is part of your daily routine, but couldn’t you leave it for a more reasonable hour?”

 

Muff hopped off the bed and started batting at the travel mug again. “Hey! That’s my last mug from Kurosaki! It’s off limits, you hear me?” He snatched it off the floor, inspecting the enameled surface for damage and placing it next to the coffee maker when he was satisfied with his findings. “You’re lucky you didn’t damage it, you furry asshole.”

 

He spent a few moments getting the coffee maker started up and then went to work on cleaning up the mess. Looked like he was getting a head start on his day. 

 

Later that morning, Grimmjow tiredly re-wired the ignition system on a black and white bike that some idiot had tried to hijack and ended up making an absolute mess of it instead. The customer who owned it wasn’t scheduled to pick it up until the following day, but he’d wanted an easy job to complete while his brain was still coming up to speed. 

 

The upside of an easy job was also its downside though: Grimmjow’s sleep-latent brain could complete it on autopilot as he mulled over the events of the morning and how he’d immediately imagined it was Kurosaki breaking into his apartment. 

 

Damn, he had it bad. 

 

Granted, there was precedent for it. Kurosaki had broken into his garage a few times before to make an evening visit. He’d at least knocked on the apartment door in those instances, but Grimmjow wouldn’t put it past him to waltz right in at this point. 

 

But the letdown only highlighted the fact that twelve days, nearly two whole weeks, had crawled by without a sign of the guy and Grimmjow was feeling a little desperate. 

 

Those half-baked plans to break into LNC property and find the dumbass we’re starting to look a lot more appealing. Or, maybe if he begged enough, Shady Bastard would tell him the location of Visored HQ—he was the best information broker in the city he had to know—so he could kick down the door and demand some answers. 

 

Grimmjow’s eyes slid to his PAD as temptation washed over him. Thankfully, Muff must of been hiding some kind of psychic ability because the tomcat chose that moment to wander over and sit on it. 

 

More likely it was warm, or the fuzzball just wanted Grimmjow to stare at him instead of it but still...saved by the cat. 

 

The day dragged by in a haze of exhaustion and anxiety and Grimmjow was glad when he reached the end of it. 

 

He had a bone to pick before he could pass out for the night though. 

 

“Now,” he lectured, one metal finger pointed at Muff’s nose. “Don’t go knocking my dishes over at five in the fuckin’ morning this time, got it? It’s bad enough waking up to you squawking in my ear every day. You don’t need to give me a heart attack too.” 

 

Muff was usually restless at night, and Grimmjow had learned to tune out most of the noise the cat made while he was sleeping for the sake of his own sanity, but a noise that loud couldn’t be ignored. 

 

The cat just sniffed his finger and started rubbing it against the corners of his mouth. 

 

Grimmjow chose to interpret that as agreement. 

 

Unfortunately, he found himself subject to the same rude awakening only a handful of hours later. 

 

Grimmjow groaned piteously as he rolled over to face the kitchenette, legs tangling in the sheets. He propped himself up to with one arm as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes causing the covers to pool around his hips. “Oi Muff, didn’t I tell you to stop making a racket so early in the morning you damn trashca-”

 

He blinked, rubbed determinedly at his eyes, and then squinted across the dark apartment. 

 

That was  _ not _ Stud Muffin. 

 

In the weak light of of the moon streaming through his apartment windows, Grimmjow took in the details of the scene laid out before him. 

 

The contents of his dish rack were once again strewn across the floor, the one reusable coffee mug still in his possession rolling across the scuffed bamboo boards in a lazy arc. A long curved object—that was a sword, what the  _ fuck _ —lay at the foot of the small counter space. It’s falling momentum the clear cause of the spill. 

 

And there, standing next to his coffee machine, which was  _ on and had a freshly brewed pot of coffee in the reservoir—how the fuck did he sleep through that— _ was a tall, dark figure. Dull metal armor and worn leather caught the weak light as they turned slowly to face him. Long, dark hair tied back in a high ponytail swayed with the movement. 

 

Kurosaki raised the hand that wasn’t occupied with holding onto his cat to offer him a chipped mug from his own cabinets full of something steaming and aromatic. 

 

“...Coffee?”

 

His voice was double-toned and watery from the distorer in his mask, but still managed to sound sheepish. 

 

Grimmjow blinked. 

 

Yep. Still there.

 

And not a scratch on him. 

 

“How-, wh-” he started, feeling a million different questions bubble up until he was tripping over his own tongue trying to get them out. He shook his head, like doing so would loosen up the tight bundle of them lodged in his throat until the most important one finally tumbled out. “Where the  _ hell  _ have you been!”

 

Kurosaki shrugged uncomfortably, staring at his boot as he kicked at a scuff mark on the worn out floor. “Sorry.” He muttered, looking like he’d be doing that nervous tic where he scratched at the back of his neck if he’d had the hands free to do it. “Had something to take care of.”

 

Grimmjow scoffed, wasting a few moments in an undignified struggle to untangle himself from the twisted knot of his sheets. “Two weeks,” he snarled when he was finally free, marching right up into the visored’s personal space, backing him up against the counter and jabbing him hard in the chest with one tungsten finger. “You were gone for  _ two weeks _ , Kurosaki. I was beginning to think you were dead.”

 

Kurosaki’s head shot up so that their gazes locked, his wide eyes clouded with remorse. Even with his enhanced eyesight and so little space between them, Grimmjow could barely make out their red tint in the dark of the apartment. 

 

“Sorry,” He reiterated “I-”

 

Grimmjow steamrolled right over him, still to incensed to listen to an apology. “Do  _ know _ what I almost did when you were gone?” He growled, leaning down just a bit until they were nearly nose-to-mask. “I thought about you being captured, I thought about you being  _ tortured. _ ” He punctuated the statement with another hard jab, right over the last one. Even with that armored jacket of his, Kurosaki was going bruise. 

 

“You made me so worried I nearly went hunting for Visored headquarters just to kick down the door and shake out some answers.” He snarled, voice tight like it hurt to admit that he’d inspired such reckless behavior, if only in thought. “Hell, you made me so worried I nearly broke into that LNC satellite facility in the Wharf District just to make sure  _ That Bastard  _ didn’t have you!” He grabbed the visored’s shoulders, pulling back just a bit so he had enough room to give the slighter man a rough shake. 

 

Coffee sloshed out of the mug in Kurosaki’s hand and Muff made an unhappy noise at the aggressive treatment, but he just  _ didn’t care.  _ “What the  _ fuck, _ Kurosaki.” He implored quietly, voice nearly breaking over the words as the majority of his anger drained away like the retreating waters after a tsunami. “You don’t just get to force a place for yourself in my life and then  _ leave. _ ”

 

Kurosaki swallowed roughly, there was a quiet _ clink  _ as he blindly placed the coffee mug on the counter behind him and then the mechanic felt him gently grasping his forearm, but he refused to look away from Kurosaki’s red eyes. “Grimmjow, I-”

 

Oh. And one more thing. “You made me so worried I adopted a cat!” 

 

Kurosaki huffed out a weak chuckle. “I noticed,” he lifted the shoulder Muff was supported on in a small shrug as evidence. The levity quickly retreated from his expression, leaving behind earnest remorse. “I didn’t think you’d want to know,” he admitted quietly. 

 

Grimmjow rolled his eyes. “You’re such a dumbass,” he huffed, dragging his hands up the column of Kurosaki’s neck to grasp at the edges of his mask where it wrapped over his ears in large, circular plates. He pried it off the visored’s face, hastily dumping it on the counter and threading this fingers though the hair at the nape of his neck as he smashed their lips together in a fervent kiss. 

 

Kurosaki’s lips were warm and a little moist from the humidity of his mask, but also soft and pliant against his own once the visored recovered enough from the shock to enthusiastically reciprocate. The hand on his forearm tightened briefly before sliding up his arm the down to his waist, drawing Grimmjow tighter to him. They stayed like that for a few moments, reveling in the warm press of their lips, noses sliding against each other’s as they breathed the same air before Kurosaki eventually drew back. 

 

“Oh,” he breathed, looking a little dazed and a lot happy, “I didn’t think you’d noticed.”

 

Grimmjow shrugged as he rested his forehead against Kurosaki’s temple. Thankful for the darkness that conveniently hid his blush from view. “I had a lot of time to think while you were gone.”

 

“Good.” Kurosaki sighed, breath warm and humid against his ear. “That’s, yeah that's good.” He slid his fingers though Grimmjow’s hair, intent on pulling him down for another kiss and Grimmjow went willingly. 

 

On the other side of his apartment, Grimmjow’s LINE connection flickered to life, blaring out the morning news for his 6 AM wakeup call. 

 

_ “-veloping situation involving the city’s most prominent businessman. The city prosecutor has announced that Las Noches Corporation CEO Sosuke Aizen will be charged with several crimes including three counts of first degree murder, at least twenty counts of conspiracy to commit murder, and a long list of financial crimes after a wealth of information about his secret dealings was uncovered at the scene of a warehouse fire on LNC property early this morning. While the majority of the antiquated paper records stored in the building were lost, those that remain allegedly detail crimes going back over two decades...” _

 

Grimmjow jerked back, blue eyes wide in alarm. “Kurosaki, what the _ fuck  _ did you  _ do _ .”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> =/ᐠ・ᆽ මි ᐟ\=
> 
> in loving memory of Shap's devotion to Thin Mints


End file.
